


green eyes

by lilen8



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Highschool AU, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Alternating, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Trust Issues, probably not but we'll see, smut is still being debated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29171250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilen8/pseuds/lilen8
Summary: In an attempt to prepare Clay for the real world, his parents send him to England on a foreign exchange student program hoping to see change. He is then forced to make acquaintances with a short-well at least to Clay-grumpy boy named George. Reluctantly, George shows Clay the ropes of L'Manburg High School. Secrets, crushes, hormones, all seemed to be universal high school experiences even in the U.K. Will Clay change the way his parents hoped? Or find himself in the arms of a colorblind British boy?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Niki | Nihachu, Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 15
Kudos: 54





	1. arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Just a general note, I'm fairly new to writing in this fandom. I don't know too much about foreign exchange student programs. I did as much research as I could. Also, the Britain education system seems so confusing? Terribly sorry if anything I write is inaccurate in those areas. If the CC's ever state they feel uncomfortable with fanfiction I would be more than happy to take this down. As of now, both CC's have expressed consent. I hope you enjoy :)

Clay hasn't felt this nervous in a long time. He’s been sweating since he got off the plane, left to fend for himself and to figure out customs in a foreign country as a 16-year-old kid. He’s never been outside the U.S. before yet his parents decided to ship him off to England just as he began high school. _Fun_. 

Clay’s legs felt watery, granted, he’s been on a plane for almost 10 hours. _Fuck,_ he thought to himself, cursing in his head as he struggles to fill out the customs form. Looking up to scan the crowd, he began to count his blessings, thankful he was sent to a country where everyone spoke English. _At least it’s not Spain. I can't speak Spanish for shit._

After going through a hellish, lengthy process, Clay began to walk towards the exit, which led to the meeting area. As people in front of him walked near, the door would automatically open, allowing passage. He smiled to himself, happy that there weren't bustling crowds of people around him anymore. As he drew closer to the doorway, he began to feel a pit pool in his stomach. 

Clay stopped in his tracks. _Still nervous._ Tugging at his backpack strap, he plays with the ends to distract himself. He was about to meet the family who would house and feed him for the next 10 months. _This is such a stupid idea_ he thought to himself, holding resentment against his parents. He had just gotten adjusted during his freshman year of high school and is now halfway across the world in a completely different education system. Now he was supposed to spend his sophomore year with strangers because his parents think that will teach him “responsibility.” 

“I'm responsible,” Clay grumbled under his breath, locked in a staredown with the steel doors. Cursing to himself again, he begrudgingly shifts forward, forcing himself into his new reality. 

Right off the bat, he sees half a dozen groups of people, unsure of what he’s looking for. _White people kind of always look the same_ he chuckled to himself. A woman not too far away perks her head up at the sight of Clay, waving her hand until his attention was piqued. He walks towards her, the abyss in his stomach refusing to pass. 

“Hello Clay! I’m Sarah Davidson,” The woman says giddily, “But you can call me Mrs. Davidson.” Her voice was smooth and low, sounding especially smart in a British accent. Her hair was chocolate brown, complimenting her eyes which had appeared as if she was not a day over 30. Clay stopped himself from staring at her further. _She sounds so… what do British people say? Posh?_ Her hand is outreached, waiting for Clay to shake, which he does. 

“Hi, I'm Clay.” Clay nervously smiles, feeling her cold hands grip him in a firm handshake. At this moment, he notices two other figures beside her. Next, he greets who he presumes is her husband. _Mark Davidson. “But you can call me Mr. Davidson.”_ He gives Clay a similar introduction, before motioning to the boy next to him. 

“This is George, our son.” Mr. Davidson smiles at Clay, nudging George, who was busy looking down at his phone. Mr. Davidson clears his throat, repeating his name. “George?”

This had finally awoken George from his focused state, prompting him to notice the tall boy in front of him. He looked up to meet his eyes, forcing himself not to look noticeably startled. “Hi I’m George,” he says in a level voice, trying to avoid looking conspicuous. Instead of giving him a handshake, he waves his hand slightly, instantly regretting it, noting how stupid he looked. 

Clay looked down at George, introducing himself, responding with a similar wave. George then returned to his phone, clearly uninterested. At least, that's how it looked to Clay. 

Mrs. Davidson looks Clay up and down, making a dramatic gasp. “Your mom mentioned you being tall but I didn't expect this.” she laughs. Clay chuckles in reply, feeling awkward as he realizes his height difference compared to Mrs. Davidson and George. _I feel like slender-man._ Mr. Davidson on the other hand was almost as tall as him, comforting his embarrassment. 

Clay makes a comment about Americans which prompts another laugh from Mrs. Davidson. 

“I'm going to call your parents now, just so they know you’re safe.” she smiles, before walking a few steps away and turning her attention to her phone. _Maybe they shouldn't have sent me hundreds of miles away then._ Mr. Davidson follows her, giving Clay a reassuring smile before turning around. George stood against a pillar, still on his phone. 

George was dressed in a big, bright blue hoodie, with a pair of black jeans to follow. His brown hair was hidden underneath a red knit beanie, with a bright red scarf wrapped around his neck. _This guy sticks out like a sore thumb_ Clay thought to himself. _What did he do, dress in the dark?_

George looked gentle, quiet. _Like a shy deer._ George took notice of Clay peering over at him, causing awkward eye contact to ensue. _What is he looking at?_ George thought. 

Clay felt awkward as he stood in front of George, waiting for the boy's parents to finish up on the phone. It was obvious the boy wanted nothing to do with Clay, but that did not stop him from trying to start a conversation. 

“Nice hoodie. Very bright.” Clay says. _God that was a stupid thing to say_. He mentally kicks himself in the leg, awaiting George’s response. 

“Oh?” George says confused, looking down intently at his hoodie. He seemed confused about what Clay said, leading Clay to feel even more stupid. “Thank you.” George musters, voice low and reserved. He puts his phone away, knowing his parents would scold him if he didn't at least look like he was being friendly with their “guest.” “How was the flight?”

Clay recognizes the change of tone in George's voice as fake niceties, and his ears blush with embarrassment. “Boring and long,” he replies, trying to conceal his flush. 

“My mum told me you’re 16 right?” 

“Yeah, I just turned two weeks ago.” Clay recounts the memory in his head. He was at the dinner table with his parents, a birthday cake in front of him. _No friends._ His parents decided that was the moment to break the news about their decision for Clay. _It was a bleak day._

George grins at Clay, “I'm 17 turning 18 soon.” 

Something about the way George was talking to Clay made him feel more comfortable and ready to trust George. _What is that, charisma? Serial killer behavior._

“Big age.” Clay grins back, trying to shake off that weird feeling. If anything, he needs at least one friend before school starts. And he was going to try like hell to become friends with George. 

  
  


“Hello! We’re back! We’re going to head to our car now okay?” Mrs. Davidson says, looking at Clay. Clay nodded, feeling knots in his stomach as he remembers his situation. _This is going to be hard._

The Davidson’s lead him to the front exit, stepping outside. As he draws closer, he is not greeted with the sun, but instead a dark night full of stars. _Time zones._ Clay follows and immediately is hit with a biting air, numbing his nose. _I guess that explains George’s winter gear._ Clay becomes distraught once again, thinking about how he didn’t bring clothes for the extreme cold. To be clear, Clay is from Florida and does not understand what cold really is. 

George stifles a laugh as he sees Clay hurriedly stuffing his hands into the pockets of his… what he presumes is a red hoodie. Clay meets eyes with George, a few feet ahead of him, the Davidson’s already at the car. 

“Hey don’t laugh, I’m from Florida,” Clay says, sticking his tongue out. 

This only prompted George to fully laugh. “Okay Florida boy, I’m so sorry you’re not used to autumn weather.” He says with a chuckle. Clay looked defeated. _He has a nice British accent._

“It’s only like this in the autumn?” He gasps, feeling embarrassed for not planning his wardrobe better.

“It’s just because it’s nighttime. it’ll probably only go as low as 10 Celsius this season” George informs him, waiting for Clay to catch up to his parents, who are already lifting Clay's suitcases into the trunk. 

Clay feels his cheeks flush once again, embarrassment rising. “What’s Celsius?”

George rolls his eyes, smiling slightly. _This American boy is really something_ he thinks to himself. 

“I knew you two would get along well.” Mrs. Davidson smiles at the boys, making them both shift uncomfortably. They take their queue to pile into the car and begin their drive. Clay was anxious and has very clearly been since he landed. _What will my room look like?_

The car hummed as the group drove past buildings and streets. Clay looks out the window mesmerized by the large landscapes and city streets. Completely different than what he sees in America. In America, the roads look commercialized, rotted from capitalism and America’s pursuit of wealth. These streets look historical, with beautiful architecture and cultural significance. His eyes widened noticing the colorful lights gleaming against the body of water which split between two big bodies of land. It all looked so… _beautiful_. 

"Oh Clay! I'm terribly sorry but the room we have for you isn't finished yet. There's some paint still dying so..." Mrs. Davidson starts and trails off, ending her sentence with a smile. "I hope it's okay if you share a room with George." 

"Oh sure that's no problem." Clay replies, trying to not look self-conscious. Glancing over at George, he sees the boy looking out the car window. _Does that mean we have to share a bed?_

Clays phone buzzed, and he fumbled in his pocket searching for its source. At this moment, his eyes glanced at the time showing that it was only 10:30 pm. _Feels way later than that._

Discord notification: 

Sapnap: dude did u land in the country of fish and chips yet? 

Clay rolled his eyes, grinning at the screen. When recounting his pathetic birthday celebration a few days ago, he forgot to mention that he does actually have 1 friend. 

Dream: driving to my new house as we speak. yay. 

Sapnap: they have a son ur age right? Is he cooler than me? 

Dream: definitely not.

Sapnap: good. Can’t have my best friend title revoked to some British CHAP >:(

Dream: Oh come on now. Hold on I think we're at the house.

The car’s hum slows down to a purr, as Clay feels himself stop into place. “We’re here.” Mr. Davidson smiles, unbuckling his seatbelt. They were parked on the side of a desolate street, a dozen more cars parked scattered to the sides as well. Large buildings surrounded them, indicating they were still in the city. He hurriedly shut off his phone, happy his friend was nice enough to check upon him. Although the streets were mostly empty, he was met with the ambient noise of distant car honks as he walked out of the car. Once again, cold air nips at his face. 

“Hope you like your new home for the next few months,” Mr. Davidson says, helping Clay to haul his luggage out the trunk. In reply, Clay fakes a smile. _They’re being nice to me, no need to be a dick._

“Thank you,” Clay says breathlessly, lugging his bags up a few stairs to where Mrs. Davidson and George stood. Sliding past the narrow gateway, he makes his way inside the gated front. He looks up, analyzing the outside of the apartment building, noting its elegance, similar to the streets he observed on the drive over. _This place looks too nice._ The clanging of keys against the knob is followed by the blunt sound of a door creaking open. 

Mrs. Davidson steps inside, leaving room for the boys to walk through. Clay gapes at the gorgeously decorated hall, ornate pieces of dark wood furniture finished with traces of tawny. The exterior did not prepare him for its contents. In fact, Clay felt out of place in his green hoodie, worn jeans, and dirty sneakers. _Jeez, am I underdressed._

Though the apartment was not large, it certainly made up for its size with its decor. Clay was exhausted by this point, his tiredness setting in from the stressful journey and absorbing new information. It was all… a lot. His eyes were drooping with every waking moment. 

Mrs. Davidson seemed to notice this. “You’ve had a long flight, some rest would probably help,” she says assuringly, patting Clay on the shoulder. George began to make his way upstairs, only to be stopped by his mother. "George." she glares at him, hinting towards Clay. George musters a grin, looking back to the tired Floridian boy, who was half falling asleep. She mouths at him, "be nice," as she disappears into the kitchen area. 

"Clay? Hey," George gently touches the boy's shoulder, prompting him awake. Clay drowsily looks to George, who was now next to him, holding one of his bags. 

"Oh hey," Clay softly says, too tired to mask his low energy. George looks at him surprised, most of his interactions with Clay have been quite the opposite. "I'm kinda tired, not gonna lie."

  
  
George softly chuckles. "It does seem that way."

The night ends with George leading Clay up to his room. Clay falls into Georges's bed, taking up almost all the room. George chuckles to himself softly, relieved the younger boy was asleep, unable to witness his feeble state. In all honesty, George was intimidated by him. He's been forced to make acquaintance with a tall boy from America. It seemed like a stupid idea to George, but nonetheless, his mom had insisted. He sits on the bed, next to Clay's breathing body. His eyes drift to the boy's hoodie. 

In this lighting, George had concluded Clay's hoodie was in fact green. 


	2. almost-friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh,” George reddens, “Yeah I'm colorblind.”
> 
> “You’re colorblind? That’s so cool," Clay says, curiosity towards George increasing. "Oh, wait does that mean you don't know what color my eyes are?”
> 
> “Unless they’re yellow, then no.” He chuckles, peering down fidgeting with his hands.
> 
> Clay grins. “Well, my eyes are green in case you were curious.”
> 
> George looks up to Clay, looking into his eyes. “Green eyes? Interesting color.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you hadn't noticed by now, the CC's ages are a bit skewed. It's so that the age differences aren't weird. If the CC's ever state they feel uncomfortable with fanfiction I would be more than happy to take this down. As of now, both CC's have expressed consent. I hope you enjoy :)

Clay woke up, bright empyreal light causing him to grumble awake. Though it was the morning time, he felt as if it was time for bed.  _ That’s timezones for you.  _ He groans out loud, almost forgetting his current sleeping situation. His eyes shoot open, scanning the room for George. 

“Okay. I’m alone,” Clay breathes in relief, rubbing his eyes to rouse his attention. He reaches for his phone, which was still in his pocket.  _ I was so tired I passed out. How embarrassing. _ Clay’s ear tinged with red, as he looks down to see how he’s still wearing the clothes he wore the night before.  _ At least I’m not greasy. _

Opening his phone, Clay sees he has a few messages from Sapnap, making him smile. His eyes shift up to the time, showing it’s 11:36 am. _ I should find Mrs. Davidson _ he thinks to himself. Lifting himself, he looks at the full-length mirror next to the side table.  _ “Full Length”? Yeah, right _ he chuckles to himself, the mirror barely showing his face, cutting off at his neck. He crouches slightly, fixing his hair so he doesn’t look like a complete fool. 

Upon opening the door of the bedroom, Clay pokes his head out, revealing a beautiful hall leading to the stairs. Walking towards the stairs, he feels out of place as he looks at the photos adorned across the hall, stunning pieces of furniture holding vases of flowers. Baby photos of George follow him as he progresses downstairs, the boy’s brown hair and dimples shining. Slowly, it progresses to highschool photos, photos showcasing awards, prominently in speech and debate, robotics club, and various technology clubs. 

The photo that most catches Clay’s attention is one of George probably only a few years ago, smiling at the camera, a girl in his arms, and another boy towering behind them with a goofy grin. The girl was very pretty, her blonde hair contrasting Georges’s brown hair. Her makeup was beautiful, paired with a formal long light blue gown. Next to the taller boys, she looked tiny. George himself was dressed in a suit, similar to the towering, brown, curly-haired boy behind him. Georges’s bowtie was blue, the other boy’s bowtie was black. They looked happy. Clay smiles. 

Once Clay’s reached the bottom of the steps, he sees Mrs. Davidson reading a book in a large armchair in the living room. George also sat in the living room on the couch with papers spread over the coffee table. Large headphones sat on his ears, as he intently writes in a notebook and inputs numbers into a calculator.  _ He’s so focused. _

Upon noticing Clay, Mrs. Davidson perks up, “Good morning Clay! Let me help you with breakfast since you overslept.” 

_ Overslept? It’s only 11 am… “ _ Okay, thank you so much,” Clay says smiling. 

“Of course,” she smiles back, leading him to the kitchen, heating up a plate of what looks like beans eggs, and toast. 

“I haven't seen your family in so long it's hard to get used to,” he admits to her, waiting at the table.

“Oh don't worry. You were so young I’m surprised you even remembered.” Mrs. Davidson exclaims the microwave beeping, making her take it out and give it to Clay. 

He smiles again, trying his best to be polite. “Thank you so much for letting me stay with you guys while I’m transferred here.” 

“Of course! Anything for your mom.” Mrs. Davidson says. “I should probably mention now how me and my husband usually work most of the week, so you and George will have to make your own food most of the time.” 

Clay looks at her surprised. “Oh okay, no problem.” 

She begins to leave the room, before turning back and saying “Let me know if you need anything!”

Clay returns to his plate, beginning to ravage the food. After eating shit airplane food the day before, this was bliss. Opening his phone, he begins to respond to Sapnaps messages as he eats.

\---

Dream: HELLOOOO

Sapnap: Jeez, lot of energy for someone whose 6 hours ahead. 

Dream: yeah so why r u still up

Sapnap: sorry MOM I'm just gaming too hard

Dream: doubt it

Sapnap: I was actually going to sleep but then you HAD to text me

Dream: cry about it, you’ll survive

Sapnap: How’s it going over there?

Dream: Fine. feels weird, these people seem kinda rich.

Sapnap: sickkkk. You’ve met them before right?

Dream: yeah but I was like 4. 

Sapnap: ah so u don't remember anything 

Dream: nope. Dude, it's so cold here

Sapnap: Is it? Or are u from Florida?

Dream: George said the same thing haha

Sapnap: oh god it's happening

Dream: What?

Sapnap: I'm being replaced :(

Clay rolls his eyes.  _ He’s so dramatic. _

Dream: oh come on. 

Sapnap: I'm just being realistic 

Dream: this is far from realistic

Sapnap: you can fall in love but you can't replace my best friend title

Dream: I can fall in love with GEORGE but I can't have two best friends?

Sapnap: yes. 

Dream: you’re so dumb. I'm not gonna fall in love with him he's a guy

Sapnap: the chances are low but never zero

Dream: oh my god, I'm leaving you now

Sapnap: have a great day with your new boyfrienddddd

Dream: oh shut up. Goodnight loser.

\---

_ He’s so stupid _ Clay smiles to himself.  _ Boyfriend? That would never happen. _

Cleaning his plate in the sink, Clay begins to walk back to his temporary room to change, noticing how Mrs. Davidson moved to a separate home office, and that George was nowhere to be found. Revisiting the framed photos on the way, he remembers what Sapnap says and chuckles. 

Knocking on the door, Clay reenters the bedroom. Both boys accidentally make eye contact. George breaks the eye contact immediately, “Sorry I work better at my desk. You’re welcome to use my other desk or my computer.” 

Clay glances over to where George is. There is a desk next to the doorway, connecting all the way to the corner of the room. A gaming computer sat near Clay, as George studied farther away at the corner, pages sprawled everywhere.  _ Big desk. _

“Why are you doing work, isn't it summer?” Clay says, observing the meticulous work done by the older boy. 

“Yes, but the A-levels I have this year are going to be super hard. I have to do some summer work to prepare.” George replies, rubbing his eyes annoyed. Not at Clay, but at the thought of completing A-levels. It’s enough to make any student have a migraine. 

Clay winces, dramatically cowering a bit behind the door. “What are A-levels?”

George looks over to Clay, noticing his bogus feeble state. Laughing, he says, “I'm not going to make fun of you for EVERYTHING you don't know.” Clay smiles, pleased to make him laugh. “A-levels are like… SATs? Or whatever test Americans take for college admissions. Except I have 5 different classes to ace so it's a bit more difficult for me.” 

“Why did you take so many?” Clay asks, fully inside the room now, sitting on the bed. 

George looks at Clay funny, shrugging. “Because my parents are crazy.” 

Clay, unsure if George was making a joke, nervously laughs. “I'm going to take a shower. Where is the bathroom?” George points to another door, on the connecting wall of the front door. Grabbing some pants and underwear, he quickly thanks George, and enters the bathroom. The bathroom itself, was very nice, with a large shower/tub.  _ Finally, a bathtub long enough for me.  _ Sighing in relief, he turns on the shower, ready to feel clean again.

\--time skip--

The bathroom was foggy and humid, filled with hot air. Clay loved steamy showers, but he may have gone overboard this time. Hair dripping, he quickly drys his body, slipping into his pants.

Opening the door, the steam pours into Georges's room, creating a perfect dramatic entrance for Clay. Towel wrapped around his neck, a shirtless Clay walks out, hair still dripping. 

“Shit, sorry I might be getting this on your floor,” Clay says, as droplets of water hit the floor. He takes the towel and dries his hair with it, unaware of George’s startled gaze.

“Oh no, don't worry about it,” George says quietly, quickly returning to his work. 

Clay peers at his reflection of himself in the mirror next to the door. _I need to workout again_ he thinks, eyeing his toned arms and flat stomach. Not quite abs since he's been slacking over the summer, something he wanted to improve on. Now sitting on the bed, the younger boy continues to dry his hair. Once he’s finished, he begins to rummage through his first suitcase, leaving the other one unopened. In it, he finds deodorant, socks, and a clean T-shirt. 

Clay really didn't have anything to do. It’s not like he had any summer work, or even had such a vivid interest in school as George had. The only “academic” related interest Clay had was coding, but even then he was barely skilled. He ransacks his backpack to find his  _ beginners to coding  _ book, ready to attempt to read without getting distracted. 

Time passes before another word is uttered between the pair. 

George begins to put away his schoolwork into his backpack signaling he was done for the day. Swiveling his chair to face Clay, full attention on him. He eyes the book the younger boy is reading. “Coding?”

Clay snaps out of focus. He looks at his book cover. “Oh, yeah coding.” 

George nods in fascination. “I actually take an advanced computer science class. Coding and programming is a part of it.”

Clay looks back up at George surprised. Honestly, after seeing the boy's impressive computer setup and the framed photos of awards, he should have figured he had expertise in those areas. “Really? I didn't know they offered that there.”

George nods. “Yeah, a lot of my classes are based around it. I'm going to college for it.” 

“That's so cool!” Clay exclaims, excited by the boy's experience. George is stunned by the boy's positive reaction. “What are your other advanced classes? Also, what does that mean?”

The older boy smiles at him. “They’re the classes I’m taking A-levels for.” He lists out the classes with his hands, “I have computer science, software systems development, I.T., Media Studies, and Art/Design.” 

Clay chuckles at the random subject. “Why art?”

“My mom insisted so that I could learn to distinguish colors better. Hasn't worked well honestly.”

The younger boy looks at him funny. “Distinguish colors?”

“Oh,” George reddens, “Yeah I'm colorblind.”

“You’re colorblind? That’s so cool," Clay says, curiosity towards George increasing. "Oh, wait does that mean you don't know what color my eyes are?”

“Unless they’re yellow, then no.” He chuckles, peering down fidgeting with his hands.

Clay grins. “Well, my eyes are green in case you were curious.”

George looks up to Clay, looking into his eyes. “Green eyes? Interesting color.”

Clay crosses his arms behind his head. “I'm blessed by my mother to have such beautiful eyes,” he says in a terrible mock British accent.

“Oh shut up that's not how I sound,” George says scrunching his face. Clay laughs. 

“No that’s totally how you sound!” 

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Now we both sound stupid,” Clay says. He’s surprised at how well he's gotten along with George. Originally, he thought the boy would hate him. He was pretty intimidating when they first met. 

“I'm glad you didn't make fun of me for my classes,” George says, looking down at his hands again. 

“I would never. I think it’s cool.” 

“Well, you do have the chance to this schoolyear you know.” The older boy begins to play with his pen. 

“Oh right!” Clay gets excited, before dropping back down. “I think I'm supposed to be doing more sports-related classes though.”

George makes a frowny face. “Why sports?”

“Well, you really think they’ll let me into your ~posh~ school without any background?” Clay mimics an accent when saying posh. 

George rolls his eyes in response. “Are you good at sports or something?”

Clay confidently nods. “I would say so.”

“My parents are going to love you. They’ve always wanted me to do sports,” George says light-heartedly, but Clay senses some reserved jealousy. 

In an attempt to lift Georges's dampened spirits, Clay changes the subject. “Tell me some more about your school.”

“Oh, well we have better lunches, harder tests, strict uniform policy, we have-”

Clay stops him. “Wait, uniforms?” George nods, only to see Clay groan. “What do they look like?”

George gets up toward his closet, taking out a white ironed collared shirt, a green tie wrapped around the neck. With his other hand, he takes out a pristine black blazer, layered on top of a dark green sweater vest. 

“I'm gonna look like I’m from Slytherin,” Clay exclaims, wheezing into a laugh. 

George grins hearing the noise escape Clay.  _ I've never heard anyone laugh like that before.  _ “Thank god you actually aren't,” he chuckles. He begins to put away the clothes, careful not to crumple anything.

Clay evilly grins, leaning forward. “Would you believe me if I said I was?”

“Yeah okay,” George rolls his eyes. 

“Okay fine what is your house?” 

“Ravenclaw.” George is now sitting back at his desk. 

“Ravenclaw?” Clay rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, you can't even touch me.”

“Beats being Slytherin.” 

“You’re dead wrong.”

George playfully scoffs. “This explains your green eyes. You were born evil.”

“I wouldn't say evil,” Clay grins, “Just better than you.” 

They both smile. At that moment, they trusted each other. Strange. George has never gotten along with someone so quickly before. Even stranger, Clay felt proud of himself. He’d managed to become almost-friends with George better than anyone he’d known in real life.  _ Maybe this school year won't be so bad after all. _

The following week was relaxed, and filled with unbridled mockery, endless conversation, and the occasional study sessions which George insisted on. Clay had begun to learn more about coding as George progressed into his studies. It almost became a ritual for the older boy to reiterate his notes to the other. The only argument the pair had was over their sleeping arrangement since George had insisted on sleeping on the ground. Clay was bewildered, insisting it didn't matter, driven further once seeing how tired George was every morning. The argument ended one night with a moody George reluctantly pushing Clay aside to make room. That weekend, Mrs. Davidson had helped Clay move into his own room, but that did not stop him from interrupting George’s everyday schedule by annoying him or having random spikes of energy. 

It was now only a week since Clay had arrived. September was in bloom. And school was tomorrow. Clay had spent the night staring at the ceiling, sad he was no longer rooming with George. It was comforting to be around him, especially in such a foreign place. Having someone who didn't mind his ADHD tendencies was reassuring. But now he lay alone, staring at the ceiling, stomach twisting from anxiety. High School was hard enough, but now he’s in “sixth form” with British children who were stacked high in qualifications. Clay already had enough trouble in school as it is, the academic competitiveness would make it so much worse.  _ Does George worry about this too?  _ He doubted it. George was intelligent and determined, two of the best qualities a student can have.  _ I hate how insecure I get about this.  _ The urge to bother George was clouding his mind, but he resisted, knowing he was asleep by now. It was 1 am. 

\---

Dream: helloooo

Sapnap: shouldn't you be getting beauty sleep?

Dream: I'm scared

Clay huffed, holding a pillow to his chest, the screen illuminating his face. 

Sapnap: It'll be okay, dream. rlly. u have George, don't you?

Dream: yeah but still. everyone is British and smart

Sapnap: yeah well you’re American and cool. everyone will want to be friends with you. Plus, you’ll meet more when you start sports right?

Dream: yeah

Sapnap: okay :) u see it's gonna be okay. 

Dream: yeah okay

Sapnap: It willlll. plus Gogy will show you all his friends too 

Dream: gogy?

Sapnap: yeah

Dream: That’s the worst nickname you could have ever come up with. He would literally kill me

Sapnap: that’s the point :)

Dream: ur stupid

Sapnap: Go to sleep dude.

Dream: Okay :)) i love uuuu

Sapnap: haha i love u too dream. Go to bed before I ground you. 

\---

Clay turns off his phone, trying to squash his thoughts into nothing. As a distraction, he finds himself reaching for his headphones by the nightstand and playing music. Drifting off into the night, Clay’s next phase of his life was about to begin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow my twt for memes and feraltwt content. @desnootfound


	3. l'manburg college

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George continued to lead Clay towards a building, following the large crowd of similarly dressed students around them. “L’Manburg College” was bolded in royal lettering above a large black door, steps of marble preceding them. 
> 
> “This… is not what I expected,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the CC's ever state they feel uncomfortable with fanfiction I would be more than happy to take this down. As of now, both CC's have expressed consent. I hope you enjoy :)

Soft ringing gently wakes Clay up. Eyelids fluttering open, sits up, the sore pressure of wearing headphones all night stinging his ears. It was 6:30, the day already seeming to strain as he drags himself out of bed. He was not a morning person, but being late to his first day of “sophomore year” was not ideal. Now it was time to shower.

The door to George’s room was already open, probably so that Clay didn’t have to knock. Pushing the door forward, he is faced with a closed-eyed George, who was still very deep in his repose. A little note was written on his side table, which read, “wake me up when ur done showering.”

Very straightforward. Clay showers, and after attempts to wake George up, following his directions. “Hey George?” he gently nudges his shoulders, waiting for an indication he is alive and well. 

“Hmmmm.” George groans in his sleep, pushing Clay’s hand away. Clay chuckles, an evil grin spreading on his face. He begins to shake George even faster, an effort which was successful but resulted in a grumpy British boy cursing Clay off as he wheezed his way back to his room. 

Clay took his time to get dressed, using the vanity that was in his room to fix his hair. The vanity was quaint, delicate, painted white. Something that belonged in a young lady’s room in a tv-show about “royal London.” A little out of place, but Clay didn’t mind since it allowed him a place to store his toiletries. Tousling his hair, he had achieved his usual “artistically messy” hair. Spraying cologne on his wrists and neck, he felt ready. Peeking outside his room, he looks across the hall to Georges’s room, whose room door was still open. Creeping into Georges’s empty room, he checks himself out in the not full-length, full-length, mirror.  _ Very proper. _ He honestly looked pretty good. The shoes were uncomfortable, as they were leather dress shoes matching Georges, but they were “appropriate.”  _ Do I really have to wear this every day? _

Curious as to where George was, Clay begins to walk downstairs. It was roughly 7:15. Once downstairs, the air was warm, the smell of eggs wafting from the kitchen. He walks in to see George sliding a set of eggs onto a plate. Toasted bread sat beside the eggs, along with some leftover beans from the day before. An identical plate sat across from it, filled with the same foods. Placing the pan into the sink, George runs some water on top of the grease, deciding to wash it after he ate. Turning back towards the table, he jumps, noticing Clay standing by the doorway. 

“You scared me!” George whines, rubbing his eyes. He weakly sits to eat, ignoring any future movements from Clay. Staring at his phone, George blankly stares into its contents, seeming sluggish.  _ He looks tired.  _

Clay sits opposite of George, beginning to eat the breakfast the older boy had prepared for the two. Clay observed George, not wanting to stir any more cold emotions from the boy.  _ Did he not sleep well last night?  _ Truthfully, he was touched that George had even spent the time to make him breakfast. It’s something, not even his mom would do. 

Smiling, Clay continued to eat.  _ George is probably always like this on school mornings. _

Both boys ate in silence, finishing up at the same time. George took both plates and proceeded to wash them as Clay sat watching, feeling useless for not helping. 

“Do you not need any help?” Clay asks, fidgeting with his hands. 

George looks at Clay. “No, but thanks anyway.” 

“Okay.” Clay replies, feeling his cheeks flush crimson. George had already turned around and begun to continue cleaning. It was a little awkward, but the older boy was just tired, and hated mornings. In fact, George hated mornings. One of his favorite activities would be sleeping in, but that is a rare opportunity nowadays. 

After cleaning, George signals to Clay to grab his backpack, grabbing his own as well. “We’re leaving to the bus now, follow me,” he says. 

Clay packs his green hoodie, just in case he feels chilly later. As of now, the blazer and sweater vest combination was warm enough for the two to endure. It was now 7:30 as George handed Clay a brown paper bag, the name “Clay” written on it. The older boy opened the front door, locking it behind Clay. 

This made Clay flush even more. Once again, another act that his mom would have never done for him, yet George was nice enough to think about Clay for breakfast AND lunch. Second, this added to the sneaking feeling that George was babying Clay. Truthfully, Clay kind of liked it. Being the middle child growing up had its downsides, which lead Clay to seek out attention. It was childish but he eventually grew out of it. But he didn’t even have to try for George. George just did it.

Clay stopped in his tracks behind George. “This is the bus stop. Not far from my house.” George informs Clay, pointing to his apartment a bit ahead. Clay nods in reply, quietly observing George’s gentle movements. 

“The bus isn’t hard to figure out. You honestly don’t have to worry about learning it.” George looks at Clay, smiling for the first time this morning. “I’ll be with you most of the time, so it’s okay.” 

Clay effortlessly smiles back, a comforting warmth blossoming in his chest. “Good.”

“Not many kids live near here, so we won’t see other teenagers for a bit.” George continues to inform Clay about the bus, and how it’s generally empty in the morning time. 

Clay just nods and intently listens. Georges’s voice was soothing, and something that he could listen to for hours. It was melodic, smooth, every word seeming to stream effortlessly out of his lips.  _ What am I thinking right now?  _ Clay tenses up, a guilty awareness building in his ribs.  _ I don’t have many friends, so this is just me appreciating him  _ he reasons with himself. And oh there was so much to appreciate about George.

“Are you listening to me?” George says mid-sentence, noticing how Clay’s eyes began to wander elsewhere. 

Clay snaps back to reality. “Oh yeah of course. Sorry, got distracted.” He shrugs apologetically. 

“Distracted at what?” George cheekily replies, crossing his arms. 

Clay playfully scoffs. “Ask my ADHD I have no idea.”

George widens his eyes, covering his mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make fun of you.”

Noticing how tense George was, Clay lightly wheezed, chuckling at him. “You’re really not it’s okay, relax. It’s kinda annoying sometimes. Ever wonder why I bother you a lot?”

George relaxes upon hearing Clay wheeze. “Oh okay. Well, I don’t think you’re annoying.” 

Clay dramatically gushes, tightly squeezing George in a hug. “Awwwww really?”

Flailing George laughs, pushing Clay off him. “Okay, maybe I was wrong,” he says, dusting nonexistent particles off his blazer. Clay replied by frowning, to which George rolled his eyes.

The bus arrived not a few seconds later, a red vehicle stopping where the pair stood. Clay, wide-eyed, stared the vehicle up and down. It was none other than a double-decker bus, which seemed over the top for what looked to be a quiet neighborhood. George tugs Clay’s sleeve, pulling him as he walks over to the front entrance. He signals something to the bus driver, showcasing a yellow card from his pocket, who then nods. George leads Clay to the top of the bus, sitting at the nearest seat to the front. Clay was still gawking at the bus, confused as to why they were using it to get to school. 

“What have you never seen one of these before?” George says, offering Clay a headphone. 

Clay takes the earbud and wears it, still looking around them. “No, but I thought we were going in something low-key.” 

“Well we live near the busier districts, so this is pretty standard.” 

That point was proven as the bus had begun to fill with even more passengers 5 minutes later, and even 5 minutes after that, until it was practically full. George makes an “I told you so” face, and Clay grins softly slapping the other boy’s face. The slap, however, was too soft, and instead, he softly caressed George’s face. 

Flushing crimson, Clay stifles a wheeze, and George covers his mouth, smothering his laugh. There was no uncomfortable tension, as the boys were slowly growing more comfortable with each other’s banter. 

The bus stopped, grabbing Georges’s attention. Not speaking, he seizes Clay’s hand, who was looking out the window blissfully unaware that they had arrived. Squeezing through the crowd, George manages to lead both boys out the exit, waving to the bus driver, who waved back. 

Clay, who was blushing once again from George grabbing his hand, was again distracted looking at the tall buildings and busy sidewalks that surrounded them. Red buses stopped at bus stops in front of them, teenagers pouring out, making their way towards an area past a corner ahead. Once spotting the other kids, George dropped Clay’s hand, now just tugging on his sleeve.

Past the corner, was a big city square, centered on a green lush park. Tables were strung around, readily available for seating. The trees were browning, leaves falling, creating a beautiful picture. A road surrounded the central area, like a roundabout. All around the roads were even more buildings, all holding the same regal stature as the other. 

George continued to lead Clay towards a building, following the large crowd of similarly dressed students around them. “L’Manburg College” was bolded in royal lettering above a large black door, steps of marble preceding them.  _ This looks way over the top.  _ Once inside, the halls were neat, seeming to fit the highschool interior he anticipated except cleaner. Instead of going with the crowd, George leads Clay to a side office, where an older lady is helping seemingly lost students over a large desk. Waiting to be noticed, George drops Clay’s sleeve, surprised at the younger boy’s silence.

“This… is not what I expected,” Clay says, relieving George. 

“This place is nicer than most schools,” George replies, hands in his pockets as the room dwindles in people.

“George! Nice to see you again.” The lady toothily smiles at George, familiar with the boy.  _ How does he know all these adults? _

“Hi Mrs. Wilson, I was hoping to get a late pass in advance. I’m showing my friend here around and he’s new,” George motions to Clay, “he’s from America.” Clay beams upon catching the word “friend.”

“Oh, of course, anything for you Georgie.” She warmly smiles. She held a motherly aura, probably the reason George didn’t cringe at the nickname “Georgie.”  _ How would he react if I called him that?  _ “What is your name?” Attention was turned to Clay to respond. 

“Clay, mam.” Clay smiles, hoping to give off a good impression. 

“Ugh, I love American accents! Anyways, I hope you have a good first day! Come to my office anytime.” Mrs. Wilson waves at the boys as they walk away. The hallways were steadily emptying Clay remarked. Looking down at his phone, the time was 8:05 am. 

“What time does class start?” Clay asks George, who was currently looking at the digital planners the school had sent days before. 

“8:10. They’re strict about time here, so we’ll usually head straight to class.” George says, still looking down at the planner. Clay nods, happy he’s friends with someone smart. 

They took 10 minutes to briefly walk around the area, as George explained where each of Clay’s classes was. The younger boy was intently listening, marking down directions on his phone. The halls were empty, helping Clay to calm down. The amount of care George took to make sure he would be okay made him really happy. He smiled down at the boy, appreciating the soft features that encompassed his  **friend** . _ I’m such a loser.  _

They stopped. “This is your first classroom. Good luck!” George chirped, handing Clay a slip of what he assumed was an excuse note. -

“Thank you. I would be lost without you.” Clay replies, smiling. George blushed hearing the sentence, but Clay barely noticed, now eyeing the door. His gaze lingered. 

George, noticing this, taps Clay slightly. “Hey, it’s gonna be fine,” he says reassuringly. Clay nods. “Text me before lunch!” George says, beginning to walk away. Clay smiles, nodding again. 

George walks away, feeling utterly dumbstruck over their interactions.  _ Why am I so soft for him? _ he thought, turning a hallway heading to class. George knew why but kicked himself for being so easy, so simple, so obvious.  _ This is so stupid. Why am I so stupid. _ The words played on repeat as he leaned on the wall. The thud of his heartbeat in harmony with the chant.

Breathing in and out, George was able to think by himself for the first time in a week.  _ Don’t disappoint them. _ Nails digging into his hand, he begins to snap into the act. Ready to play a part, eyeing the door and already dreading the show.  _ I’ll get over it. I have to. _ Still, this did not make it any less frustrating for George as he opened the door. 

\---

“Ting!” The bell melodically rings, signaling the beginning of lunch. Clay was still not used to this bell system, it was so… cute? 

“Bye Clay!” A girl sitting next to him says, putting her hand on his shoulder to hoist herself up. She smiles and waves, meeting her friend at the front door, giggling until they disappeared. 

This did not register to Clay as teasing, so he continued to put away his notebook. For the most part, he had kept quiet, but in every class, the teacher would require him to introduce himself, which then lead to a QnA with the classroom. Everyone seemed to love his voice, and his most common questions were, “Have you eaten gator?”, “Do American Schools really practice for school shootings?” and “Have you shot a gun before?” Each answer was an apathetic yes. 

Text Message:

Clay: Hey where are you?

Gogy: Do you remember where the office we went to is

Clay smiles reading the name he gave George on his phone.  _ He would definitely kill me. _

Clay: yeah, meet there?

Gogy: yes :)

Maneuvering through the hallways wasn’t as difficult as it was in the morning, and his height made it easier to look over people. Turning a corner, he sees George from a distance, leaning on the wall next to the office door. George sees Clay and smiles. Clay smiles back. 

“Hey,” George says as Clay draws near, who was nearly out of breath since he had to walk over halfway across the school and down two stairs. This school was fairly large, but there weren’t as many students as he anticipated. Someone told him there was a population of roughly 500 students. It was a selective school so it didn’t completely surprise him. 

“Hey,” Clay breaths out, still fondly smiling.  _ I need to stop smiling so much around him it’s going to creep him out. _

“Alright, let’s go. We eat outside on good days.” George begins to walk towards the front door, eyes forward to avoid making eye contact with the boy. Clay did not take the hint, and jogged ahead, walking backward to talk to George. 

“Hi,” Clay chirps, waving a little with his hand. George blushed, trying to suppress his flustered expression. 

“Hi.” George looks like he’d been slapped in the face. Clay ignores this. 

“How’s your day been?” he smiles. George’s cheeks felt hot as the younger boy continued to smile, looking back every so often to not trip over. Dirty blonde locks draped behind his ears, a glean in his golden eyes catches George off guard. Instead of replying, George stares, scanning the boy’s handsome features.  _ Fuck, not now George. _

“I’m good, I’m good.” George stammers, quickly mustering a smile before pretending to fix a button on his blazer. 

“Hey let me help.” Clay stops walking, reaching closer to George. This movement startles George, causing him to instinctively shove him. Clay paces backward at an inopportune area, as they had just reached the school’s front entrance of stairs. On the ledge of the first step, the younger boy stumbles. Just as fast, George lunges forward grabbing the sweater of Clay’s uniform. Not one student had bothered to care, but George still felt the embarrassment up his neck spread to his crimson cheeks.  _ We are way too close right now. _

“George! You almost killed me!” Clay lightly laughs, regaining his balance. George’s hand released the balled up fabric, nervously clearing his throat. 

“S-sorry!” He squeaked, cheeks still red. “Let’s keep going.”

Clay kept laughing softly, George now dragging him by the sleeve again. Looking ahead, George spots his table and regains his composure, excited to see his friends again. The lunch area was located outside the school, in the large park. It was George’s favorite place to eat but sadly was unavailable most days due to London’s rainy weather. Still walking, he hears a quiet wheeze, turning around to witness Clay still having a laughing spell.

“Clay it wasn’t that funny!” George retorts, smiling, still embarrassed. 

There was no verbal reply, just a stifled wheeze as Clay covers his mouth, trying to stop laughing. 

“We’re almost there so quit it!” George looks back again, smiling. Clay simply nods, mouth shut.

“George!” two voices perk up upon spotting the older boy. 

A blonde girl and brown-haired boy sat at the table ahead, both already eating and deep into conversation. Clay immediately recognizes them from the framed photo at George’s house. 

“Hey, guys!” George waves, letting go of Clay’s sleeve. Clay realizes who he’s about the meet, and quickly straightens up. “This is Clay.”

The two kids sitting down wave to Clay and he waves back. “Hey.”

George sits down, signaling Clay to sit next to him. 

“I’m Niki.” Niki smiles at Clay, outreaching her dainty hand to his. Clay shakes, nervous but keeping composure.  _ These guys seem pretty nice. _ “I’m your age so we might have some classes together.” Her voice was soft-spoken with a tinge of a foreign accent.  _ Where is she from? _ She had a streak of dyed pink hair, rose-gold wired framed glasses sat on her nose. Her eyeliner was perfect.  _ She’s really pretty. _

“That’s great to hear because I have been so lost,” Clay replies. Niki sweetly nods. 

“And I’m Wilbur. A pleasure to meet you.” Wilbur winks at Clay, grinning. Clay almost chokes, startled from the confidence he radiated. “I’m turning 18 soon actually.” His accent was different from George’s but still melodious.

“I just turned 16,” Clay replies, already feeling silly for bringing it up. 

“That’s funny, we’re like the birthday foursome.” Wilbur laughs, prompting everyone to ew. 

“That’s so gross.” George rolls his eyes. He unpacks his lunch, which Clay mirrors. “Niki and I have close birthdays so we usually celebrate it the same day.” 

“That’s really cool,” Clay smiles, hoping he’s making a good impression. 

Wilbur motions to Clay, “You seem like an alright lad. Watching you almost fall was quite funny.” 

Clay grins, beginning to remember the moment. George interjects, “That was so embarrassing Oh my god. This boy would not quit laughing.” 

“It was fun watching you get all jumpy and embarrassed!” Clay exclaims, now widely smiling. Niki giggles. Reaching into the lunch George made him, he begins to pull out items as if opening a mystery box. A ham and cheese sandwich. An orange. Carrots. And a pudding cup.  _ This is so adorable.  _

“You are such a pain.” George rolls his eyes, biting into his sandwich. 

“Shut up you love me, Georgie,” Clay eyes George, smirking. 

“Georgie? Oh god, you better not start calling me that.” George buries his face into his sandwich, hiding his grimace.  _ Where did that confidence come from? _ George muses to himself.

Clay wheezes, set off by the pained expression on George’s face. Wilbur is thrilled watching the pair banter, while Niki softly giggles. 

“Aww, he made you lunch?” Wilbur picks up the brown lunch bag, the name Clay written in cursive. “I can recognize his prissy writing anywhere. How cute.”

Niki awes, setting George off again. 

George spills with excuses, struggling to not sound like a simp. Clay continues to wheeze, gradually turning into a laugh. It was fun to tease George. Seeing his face turn red and watching him bite his lip to hide a smile made him weak.  _ Weak from laughter.  _

“What are you guys studying?” Clay looks at Wilbur, biting into his sandwich. 

“I’m studying music,” Wilbur says, eating apple slices with one hand. The other arm is outstretched, shirt sleeve bunched up. He wasn’t wearing his blazer. Niki was silently drawing flowers on his arm. 

“I’m working towards Psychology,” Niki says, very focused on the design she’s drawing. “What are you studying?” 

“Oh, I actually don’t really kno-”

“He’s studying Sports Science so you guys definitely have classes together,” George interjects. Clay nods, continuing to eat. George offers Clay a headphone, which he promptly takes. Wilbur and Niki softly converse on the side.  _ This is nice _ he smiles to himself. 

“Hey.” Clay quietly says to George. The boy looks up to him, eyebrows raised. “Thank you for lunch, seriously.” Clay bites the inside of his mouth, trying not to do too much. If there’s anything Clay does too much is smile around George, and he didn’t want the boy to be creeped out. 

“Oh, yeah of course.” In the absence of Niki and Wilbur’s gaze, George had relaxed his shoulders, paranoid he was going to do something stupid in front of them.  _ I just need to relax. We’re friends. _ He looks over to Clay, who was still looking in his direction. 

Smiling cheekily, Clay leans to George, whispering, “Thank you.” Clay meant that.  _ Thank god George turned out to be a nice guy. _

They eat happily, George sneaking glances, Clay trying his best to sit still. 

\---

“George!” Clay excitedly exclaims, jogging to the older boy. His breath was raggedy, having just finished his Gym class. George, who had just left his I.T. class, was surprised to see the boy so soon. People were squirming all around the hallways, making it difficult to walk.

“Jesus Clay, school just finished how did you get here so fast?” George says, smirking at the boy’s enthusiasm. 

“The gym teacher lets us leave after we change, I just changed super fast and ran.” He laughs, turning into gasps for breath. He walks towards the older boy and leans an arm on the wall.  _ Does he just always look like… that? _ George wonders to himself. Fuck, I’m staring. 

“Oh, nice.” George glances away, suppressing his blush.  _ Jesus seriously George?  _ “I’ve got to talk to some teachers before we leave if that’s alright?”

Clay gives George a thumbs up. “Sure!” Adjusting his backpack, he follows George as they walk to their destination.”I had two classes with Niki before Gym! Psychology and Chemistry. I didn’t even know I had Psychology.”

“Oh really! That’s so cool!” George was relieved Clay has been able to get along with the crew. Watching him yap was entertaining as the boy energetically paced. 

“I talked to someone new!”

George turns to Clay, watching him attempt to contain his enthusiasm. It was like a dog wagging his tail, excited to walk. “Oh really? Who?”

“Funny story, his name is also George! And funny enough he’s also your age.” 

George gulps, almost stumbling over his legs and running into a person nearby. Thankfully, Clay was paying particular attention to his own hands. “George? Isn’t he on the hockey team?” 

Clay returns his attention to the older boy nodding. “Just like I’m going to be.”

_ Did I hear that right? _ “Wait you’re trying out for the hockey team?” George darts his head to Clay, who nods in reply. 

“I thought your mom would have told you.” He wears a cocky grin, and in a British accent says, “I’m quite good.”

George doesn’t pay attention and instead lingers off in thought.  _ Hockey? Of all teams, he had to choose the hockey team? _ Clay takes notice of the boy’s stillness, growing nervous despite the loud crowd of students passing the halls. No response. Did I say something? Clay worries to himself, scanning the younger boy’s face for an answer. The boy stops his pace, walking into a classroom at the end of the hall. Dumbfounded, Clay decides to wait outside the classroom. 

Moments pass until George returns. It had been a long five minutes of nervously wanting to see George again and to hopefully understand why he’d gone silent. Thankfully, the halls had begun to disperse, allowing him to feel less claustrophobic. 

“Hi.” Clay meekly says, looking at George. Instead of displaying emotion like a typical person, George stares at him blank-faced. He begins to walk, facing forward, Clay following. 

“What?”

“Oh- well I don’t know, I thought you were upset.”

“No. I’m good. Sorry, just one more class.” George had once again disappeared into another classroom. 

_ Fuck I did something didn’t I?  _ Clay hated feeling like he’d upset people.  _ I just met him, why did I already screw things up. _ He frowns, looking down and fidgeting with his thumbs.  _ We were doing so well earlier. _

A few more moments pass before Clay sees George again, but the boy still held the same blank expression. 

“Oh, George!” A girl calls from the doorway, looming behind him. He turns around, quickly returning to a smile. 

“Hi Anna,” George diverts his attention to the girl as Clay stands nearby. She seems to be talking to him about an assignment of some sort, with a complex technological name. Anna’s hair was blonde, and her voice was perfectly hitched, matching her professional and put together demeanor. Gazing up at George due to his height, she beams.  _ She’s beautiful. _

Clay only notices what she’s doing when she playfully hits Georges’s arm giggling.  _ Hm? _ Clay crosses his arms, frowning at her from afar. George instinctively laughs, in a tone that he identified as fake. Clay smirks. George waves goodbye as she sashays away, slightly bumping Clay as she walks past.  _ There’s enough space in the hallway. _ He proceeds to watch her, rolling his eyes making eye contact with George. George tilts his head, confused at the boy’s grin. 

“What?”

“What? She was definitely flirting with you and you didn’t notice?” 

George looks even more confused, brushing it off. “She just asked me about the homework.”

Rolling his eyes, Clay playfully scoffs. “On the first day? Sure.”

“She wasn’t!” George cries, annoyed at the accusation. 

“Sure Georgie, and my eyes aren’t blue.” 

“Well, technically your eyes are yellow to me.” 

“Well technically shut up. That was deffo flirting.” Clay chuckles, “Why didn’t you make a move? She seems nice.”

George tenses up. “Um. Well, I can’t really do that.”

The younger boy squints his eyes. “And why’s that?”

George anxiously rubs the back of his collar, knowing the subject would come up eventually. “I’m actually dating Niki.”

“Wait what?”

\---

It had been a few hours since George had last bothered to talk to Clay. He was quiet on the bus, quiet at dinner, and even after Clay finished his shower, passing the boy. It was too quiet. Painfully quiet. 

Clay stares at his ceiling, the clock reading 8:34 pm.  _ What happened? _

Interrupting his thoughts, Clay hears a knock on the door. He shoots up, getting a head rush. “Yeah?”

The door opens, to reveal George in a big gray sweatshirt and blue plaid pajama pants. His head was engulfed in the hood, drawstrings cutely tied in a ribbon. “Can we hang out?”

Clay looks wide-eyed, but eagerly nods, getting up to follow George to his room. Clay himself was dressed in a dark green sweater, with black basketball shorts.

George sits on his bed, an invitation for Clay to follow. Looking up to the older boy, he waited. 

“Do you want to watch something?” George quietly asks, avoiding meeting his eyes. 

“Sure. Whatever you want.” Clay reassuringly smiles. 

“Okay.” George lays against the bed frame, pillows positioned for him to sit up, as he scrolls through Netflix on the TV positioned on the wall across the room. Clay begins to rearrange his pillow, making a soft chair. Grabbing a Ravenclaw blanket, Clay begins to get comfortable. George chooses a cartoon, taking the other half of the blanket. 

Silence passed before a word was spoken. 

“I don’t hate you. I’m sorry.” George mutters, clinging to his jacket cuffs.

Clay turns to George. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry if I said anything wrong.” 

“No, it’s not you, it’s just…” George looks to Clay and back at the T.V., he swallows. “I’m just tired.” 

The younger boy smiles relieved that the other seemed better. “It’s okay.”

The boys watched T.V. for a while, each scared that the other secretly hated them. Oh it was quite the opposite. 

  
Clay’s eyes began to drift after an hour or so, the activities of the daytime finally affecting him. His eyelashes tickled his cheek, signaling it was time to go. Before he could speak to George, he felt a gentle presence press against his arm. Looking down, he sees his dear friend quietly asleep, cheek pressed against Clay’s body. This alone made Clay blush, as he gazed at his friend’s tranquil state. George’s eyelashes tickled the skin on the boy’s arm.  _ He’s so small.  _ Clay smiles.  _ It would be a crime to wake him up  _ Clay reasoned with himself, allowing the boy to fall further asleep. His chest warmed like it did this morning upon George feeding him. Maybe it was a sign of friendship. Maybe it was something more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow my twt for memes and feraltwt content. @desnootfound


	4. on thin ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long piece of hair falls in front of Clay’s face, obscuring his eyesight. As he lifts his arm to adjust it, George reaches for the curl, tucking it behind the boy’s ear. His fingers linger in the boy’s hair, intertwined in his dirty blonde locks. George’s eyes widen in realization as he moves his hand away, wondering whether he should apologize or forget it happened. 
> 
> “I liked that.” Clay simply says, not daring to move. Ever since George held him, Clay ached for more. He craved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the CC's ever state they feel uncomfortable with fanfiction I would be more than happy to take this down. As of now, both CC's have expressed consent. I hope you enjoy :)

Clay slammed his locker door closed, too preoccupied in his head to worry about the crashing noise. It was finally Friday and his last class of the day was wrapping up. Despite today being the day he would have his first hockey meeting, it was the last thing on his mind. Ever since the events of Monday, he’d been over-analyzing his interactions with George. He was scared to make a wrong move and upset him. Clay had decided it was related to hockey, unsure of what the sport did to George but it’s not like he was going to question it. He’d learned that George was sensitive, reserved, and although trusted Clay, would need time before opening up.

Slowly, Clay undressed from his gym clothes, changing back into his dress pants, button-up, and sweater vest. Instead of his blazer, he’d picked his green hoodie, opting for the comfortable option now that the school day was coming to an end. 

“See you later.” Clay turned around, spotting his hockey friend George waving as he walked out. 

“Bye George,” the younger boy waved, the name sitting warmly on his tongue. 

Stopping in place, George stepped back, saying one more thing to Clay. “You can call me Spifey by the way. The rest of the guys on the team call me that.” He throws a thumbs up to Clay before exiting the locker room. 

Clay returned to his thoughts, looking to the mirror on the wall, observing his features. 

Over the week, Clay was able to become friends with Wilbur and Niki, finding them to be friendly people who cared for him. School, on the other hand, was everything he’d expected it to be and worse. Thank god he has Niki in two of his hardest classes: Psychology and Chemistry. Presently, the biggest piece of information that had been nagging him since he found out; the idea of Niki and George dating.  _ Niki and George? _ The day after he found out, he’d asked Niki about it before class. 

_ “I didn’t know you and George are dating.” _

_ Niki stopped what she was doing, looking at Clay surprised. “Y-yeah we are.” She pauses. “I just thought he already told you.” _

_ Clay shook his head. “I just found out yesterday. We never talked about that stuff before anyway.” _

_ “Oh okay.” Niki smiles at Clay, continuing to take out her pens and notebooks for class.  _

Despite Niki confirming it, it was hard to believe. Mostly because they never acted like a couple, to begin with. He would have believed her dating Wilbur, but that was simply because he awed at everything she did.  _ How long had they been dating? Since the photo in George’s hallway? More recently? _ All he had was questions with no answers. 

The soft ringing of the bell interrupted his thoughts, tearing his gaze away from his reflection. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he begins to make his daily trot to George’s class. Upon seeing his brown-haired friend, Clay’s thoughts pushed to the back of his mind. 

George himself felt relieved to see Clay walking past the crowds of students, inching closer to the boy. He’s made it a habit to wait outside his classroom for his friend. 

“Hi!” Clay exclaims, energy already returning upon sight of George. “We have to leave in 30 minutes, so we have time if you need to talk to teachers.”

_ Oh. Right _ . George unenthusiastically thought to himself, reminded of Clay’s hockey practice. It would be the first meet, which would graduate into a daily after-school activity. And George had to go with him to each one. Just thinking about the hockey team made him sick. When Clay had mentioned it at lunch, both Niki and Wilbur went quiet before covering it up with polite smiles and nods.  _ Why did he have to join the hockey team? _

“Not today. We can just hang out somewhere before we go.” George offered, already walking towards the front entrance/exit. 

Clay follows. “Okay! Spifey told me it’s 5 minutes away on bus-”

“I know. Don’t worry I know what bus to take.” George smiles, trying to keep his composure. 

The pair exit the school, George taking the lead as Clay awkwardly follows. The campus--or rather the sidewalk--was infested with school kids, so the younger boy took caution, holding onto George’s backpack handle. The boys end up at a Starbucks on the street over. Once inside, there were groups of students already sipping on their drinks, loud chatter filling the air.

“You recognize this shop, right?” George says, looking back to Clay. 

“Of course I do idiot.” Clay grins, letting go of the boy’s backpack. They get in line, both ordering drinks. After waiting, George leads Clay to the second floor, where there were significantly fewer people, less chatter, and open chairs. They opt for a window seat. 

Finally sitting down, the boys had a chance to breathe. Clay gingerly sips his hot chocolate, careful to not burn his tongue. George had opted for a latte, happily drinking it. 

“I don’t know how you can stomach that stuff,” Clay breaks the comfortable silence, eyeing George’s coffee. 

“Maybe if you weren’t so hyper you would understand,” George laughs, taking another sip. “It’s really not that bad, here.” He extends his hand, offering the cup. 

Clay eyes it suspiciously, hesitant to try. Slowly grabbing the container, he lifts it closer to his lips as George watches.  _ This is so dramatic _ George studies, rolling his eyes. Finally, he begins to take a sip, before making a nauseated face shoving the cup back to George. “Nonono, that’s nasty,” the boy utters, face still scrunched up as he washes down the coffee with hot chocolate. George erupts in loud laughter. 

“You’re so dumb oh my god. That was terrible, never let me drink it again.” Clay says, now grinning watching George grip onto the table, covering his mouth to stifle his racket. One thing Clay liked about George was how easy it was to make him laugh. Despite the boy cracking up at nearly everything he did, the success of viewing George’s perfect teeth and eyes crinkling made it addicting.  _ It’s like a reward. _

The older boy crosses his arms holding his stomach, attempting to catch his breath. “You’re so stupid, Clay,” George says heartily, still recuperating.

Hearing George say his name made his skin glow, his heart taking a leap of joy. Clay felt himself smiling uncontrollably, cheeks sore from the constant pressure.  _ Stop smiling, idiot, you’re going to freak him out _ . He blushes, quickly containing his flustered state. 

George glances at Clay, warmly smiling, causing the younger boy to feel his chest glowing. The sensation crawled to his neck, leaving him speechless. He was quite simply enchanted. George had continued to watch Clay’s golden eyes, smile diminishing until he was just gazing. In response, Clay wore an exposed expression, failing to piece together words.

“I-,” Clay clears his throat, “... I’m just- I mean it’s the coffee.” Unable to meet George’s eyes, Clay looks ahead, sipping more hot chocolate.  _ What was that about? Jesus Clay. _ He cringes at his response, hoping the other boy wasn't suspect. 

George softly laughs. “Note to self, never offer you coffee again.” 

Clay forces a smile, relieved that the boy paid no attention. He snaps back into reality, rummaging through his backpack for his phone.  _ It’s 3:22.  _ “Hey, we should get going.”

“Do I really have to gooooo?” George whines, drinking more of his coffee.

“Georgeeee, I need you.” Clay dramatically pouts, standing up and hoisting his bag over his shoulder. 

Loudly sighing, George forces himself up. “Fine. I forgot that you literally can't live without me.”

“Yayyyyy,” Clay cheekily smiles looking at George. The other boy rolls his eyes, playfully shoving him. The two clean up their area, throw away the disposable cups and make their way outside. 

The crisp air nips at their faces, causing both to stir uncomfortably. Looking over to George, Clay notices his slight shiver. George jogs, and both boys barely make it to the bus that momentarily stops next to the coffee store. Once inside, they take the nearest seats, content to take shelter from the chill. 

Clay lifts his arms, bunching up his hoodie. “Here take this. You need it more than me.” 

George looks down, blushing from the cold (supposedly.) “Oh. But you’re also cold aren't you?”

“Don't worry about me. I’ll warm myself up during practice.” Clay shoves the hoodie into George’s arms, smiling reassuringly. 

Now left hoodie-less, Clay feels himself begin to stiffen, icy air biting through the thin material of the collared shirt. The sweater vest was now the only warmth that clung to his body. He struggles to try to appear natural and not like he was slowly freezing, looking out the window as the bus passes the streets. He feels George beside him gently pull the hoodie over his head, content the boy wasn’t freezing like he was. 

George, on the other hand, was crimson with embarrassment. Was it embarrassment? No, it was more like  _ Why did he do that? It didn't mean anything. Why does my face feel hot? God, I want to disappear. He smells really good-  _

The bus stops, and George rushes out, not wanting Clay to see him so flustered. He breathes in the crisp air. Thankfully, the bus was empty and there appeared to be no people on the streets, calming his nerves. 

“I'm going to go. Text you after,” Clay says, friendly waving at George. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna go. See you after,” George turns, and begins to head towards the library on the other side of the street. 

“Woah, are you not coming with me?” Clay sharply turns around, looking at George. 

The older boy turns around to see Clay, confused, his hair ruffled. It tugged at George’s heartstrings. “Um,” he shifts in his-Clay’s hoodie, “Maybe another day, okay?” 

Clay stands, still gazing at George. “Okay.” 

And that was that. Clay left, finally allowing George to walk uninterrupted.  _ I hope he joins me one day. _ He made his way towards the front of the building, entering. The coach caught a glimpse of Clay, waving him over.

“Ay lad. Where have you been? Doesn’t matter, go head to the locker room thataway. Ask Spifey to help with choosing gear, we have plenty of sizes.” The coach tells Clay, thick accent, pointing to the left where a men’s sign hung over a door. “You can call me Coach Jones.”

“Sure thing, Coach Jones!” Clay exclaims, trying to hype himself up. He enters the locker room, immediately spotting Spifey. 

After choosing the right size, and chatting quickly, Clay rushes to get changed, not wanting to hold everyone back. A minute or two passes and he was completely geared up. In all honesty, this meeting is the last thing he wanted to do. 

**Bang** . A fist crashed into a locker door, startling Clay to turn around to find its source, only to be faced with one of the boys from the team.  _ What does he want? And what was the point of punching the locker? _

“Who are you?” The boy booms, with the confidence that can only be explained by a superiority complex.  _ Fuck this guy. _ His hair was curly, brown, and scuffed around his ears. His build was powerful, but he was shorter than Clay, as were most people. Freckles splashed across his face, his dark eyes were menacing.  _ The British accent makes him less scary.  _

“I’m Clay,” Clay responds, voice smooth, stare blank.  _ Best to not care. _ He begins to put his items into his locker, trying to not look bothered. 

“Ay, you’re that American kid,” the boy declares, eyes narrowing slightly more. “I know exactly who you are.” He grins, in a way that makes Clay uneasy, before walking away.  _ Um… okay. _

Clay closes his locker door, making his way to the exit, stomach twisting upon seeing all the boys already sitting on the rink floor. Equipping his skates, he joins the boys. 

The coach barks some orders, quickly prefacing the hockey season, and when they would meet. Basic information. “Okay. The plan for today is to warm-up with your team captain, and we will play a quick two-quarter game for 30 minutes before we go. Your captains will be, Spifey,” He points to the dark-haired boy, who was already standing. Spifey waves to the boys. “And Noah,” the coach points to the other boy standing next to Spifey. Clay is surprised to realize it was the boy who had confronted him in the locker room.  _ Oh god.  _

Out of 12 other boys, Spifey and Noah begin to pick out boys. Spifey thankfully picks Clay. 

\---

“Clay you’re actually pretty good for an American!” A blonde boy exclaims, blue eyes wide as the two boys passed a puck with their sticks. 

“Shut up Tommy, even if I was British I would crush you,” Clay sneers, grinning as his puck flies past Tommy’s grasp. Both boys laugh, almost tripping and falling onto the ice. Tommy’s boisterous laughter was infectious, it was hard not to join. The muscles in Clay’s body ached with every passing move, already sore from warming up.  _ If I’d practiced over the summer maybe this wouldn’t be happening.  _

“You’re such a daft, can't believe you let him win!” Another boy exclaims from behind Clay. His hair was brown, lighter than George’s. 

“Tubbo don't side with this bloke! Bloody hell Clay you’re gonna kill me.” Tommy exclaims loudly, laughing until he was gasping for breath. Truth be told, despite his break away from hockey, Clay was still very good. 

Spifey skates over, checking in on the three boys. “Alright lads, we’re gonna play soon so get ready.” He shoots them a quick thumbs-up before leaving. 

“You’re an alright lad Clay I’ll give you that.” Tubbo pats Clay on the back before skating off to meet all the other boys. 

Tommy motions to Clay to draw nearer, voice lowering. “Ay, you need to watch out for Noah. Heard he’s got a thing against you.” 

Clay looks at him wide-eyed. “What? Why, what did I do?”

Tommy shrugs in response, skating off to meet with the other boys as well. Clay quickly follows until all the boys were together. Coach Jones started going over some quick rules before the game.  _ Why does he not like me?  _ He looks over at Noah, analyzing his hard features. The boy looked mean. 

A loud whistle interrupts his thoughts, and the coach begins to break the boys apart, splitting the teams with their respective leaders. The game was set-up, ready to begin. Clay was nervous as hell. Although he was tall, most of the other boys made up for it in brute strength and muscles.  _ I need to work on that. _

Another blow of the whistle signaled the game began, and Clay immediately snapped back to focus. His eyes centered on the puck, as it entered his left-wing area. He swerves the boys piling after him, he slides the puck to follow his momentum, shocking his opponents. With ease, Clay scores a point. There was silence, as the goalie gaped at Clay, stunned. 

“Go, Clay!” Tubbo and Tommy cheered from the other side of the rink, followed by Spifey shushing them. Clay gives a thumbs up to the boys, smiling until he makes eye contact with Noah. He looked furious. The coach blows his whistle, prompting the boys to return to position. From then on, the opposing team focused on Clay, making it a mission to prevent him from scoring further. The rest of the game was riveting, Clay’s ego boosted from how well he was playing compared to the rest of them. As the game progressed, Noah’s playing style became more aggressive, shoving Clay harshly, scoring points ruthlessly. With every passing move of the puck, Clay could feel the boy’s eyes burn into his skull. 

The game was coming to a close with both teams tied and the puck in Clay’s court. The ice hissed under his skates as he closely kept to the puck. Sweat dripped down his cheek, the equipment weighing down on his already sore body. Two boys begin to chase Clay, one of them being Noah. Attempting to shake off his trail, the boy swerves near the boards, keeping close to the walls. His momentum was increasing, his view of the net becoming clear with every stride. In a quick glance, Clay watched as Noah quickly slid his stick towards his blade and turned it quickly. Suddenly, his left skate was caught and he felt his heart drop. Unbalanced, Clay trips over himself, crashing into the boards next to him, jaw hitting the ice floor. Up ahead, he watches as Noah takes the puck, veering to the other side of the rink, leaving him battered. Hands fisted, Clay pushes his forearm against the ice to push himself up, grunting as the pain in his leg intensifies. 

“Jeez, Clay what happened?” Spifey asks, helping Clay to get back on his feet. “That looked like it really hurt.”

Clay, now standing back up, touches his face, rubbing his bruised jaw with frozen gloves.  _ Should have worn the shielded helmet.  _ “Noah tripped me.”

Spifey furrows his brows, concerned. “He did? Fucking course.” Tubbo and Tommy quickly skate over, as well as the other members of his team. 

“Noah just scored the last point of the game, so we’re go-” Tubbo stops talking, noticing the strong grip Clay held over his stomach, trying to regain his breath. “What happened?”

Clay breaks away from the wall support, beginning to skate towards the opposing team, who were already making way towards the locker rooms. He hears Spifey quickly explaining behind him, making him wince. _ What is Noah’s problem? _

“Clay are you alright? Saw you took a fall there.” The coach asks the boy, who was stepping off the ice. 

“Yup. Just a slip-up.” Clay looks at him, faking a smile. 

“Alright good. You’re a great player, we can’t afford to lose you.” Clay nods, heading towards the locker room. 

Spifey quickly skates to the exit, trying to catch up to Clay. “Clay!” Clay stops, giving the boy time to catch up. “Hey. Sorry about Noah being like that. He can be…”

“A dick? Yeah, I would say so.” Clay sneers. Spifey looks at him, startled. 

“I mean I wouldn’t say that, but sure. I don’t know why he’s targeting you. He isn’t like this usually.” Both boys entered the locker room, the loud laughing interrupting their conversation. The atmosphere is what you would expect from any high school locker room. Awful smells and shitty jokes were all it offered. It was no different from America, the boys running wildly between the changing rooms and bathrooms. 

Clay was still very upset, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He makes his way to his locker as Spifey cautiously watches from his own locker. 

_ What’s his problem?  _ Clay remembers the moment he spoke was when Noah took a disliking towards him.  _ Is it because I’m American? How stupid. _

Gloves now off, Clay gingerly rubs his jaw, the tension causing him to flinch. Upon removing his hand, he notices a red substance on his fingertips, quickly recognizing it as blood. Touching the corner of his mouth, he whips around to the mirror behind him, raising his hand to inspect even more blood from his lips.  _ I look like shit _ , Clay observes his shirtless body, a bruise beginning to form on his side and arm. His face was worn, bloodied, sweating from the sport. 

Hopping quickly in and out of the shower, Clay was desperate to leave and hang out with George. Walking back to his locker, he eyes Noah, who was talking with Spifey. 

“-you can’t just push the new guy around mate. Alright? He’s good and we need him.” Spifey murmurs, leaning to Noah. 

Clay rolls his eyes as he passes by, opening his locker gathering his stuff. “I ain’t done nothing Spifey, the twat is lying.” The words burn in his ears, and he turns to Noah, eyes stormy. 

“Lying? You tripped me with your stick you know it!” Clay retorts, locker slammed shut as he carries his backpack. 

“What a fucking liar.” Noah squints his eyes at Clay, an accusatory tone in his voice. 

Clay takes a step forward, anger fueling his actions. “Yeah? What happened then?

Spifey separates the two hot-headed boys, standing between them. “Hey guys, let’s quit it.” Clay narrows his eyes, still holding onto his newfound resentment. 

“Whatever.” Noah groans, fists clenching, he walks away.  _ What a dick. _

Once the boy was out of sight, Clay releases the tension in his shoulders. “Sorry. I… I know he doesn’t like me and I don’t know why.”

Spifey pats Clay’s back. “Yeah, I don’t know either. I’ll try to get him to back off.” The boy continued to pack up, as Clay finally walked out of the building.

\---

_ Clay can’t really be taking this long right? _ George looked down at his watch.  _ 5:36 _ . His back ached from doing homework for so long, his eyes tired from the seemingly endless words on paper. Bookshelves surrounded him, leaving an isolated table, perfect for George who would rather avoid people. The hoodie was still wrapped around the boy’s body. Fingers clenched on the cuffs of the hoodie, he breathed in the scent, the Sandel-wood remnants calming him. His hands cup his face as he takes it in. It wasn’t overwhelmingly strong, it didn’t smell pungent, it smelled like  _ him _ . Delicate, clean, it was just enough for George to breathe in without drowning. He closes his eyes, nose muzzled into the neckline.  _ I’m overthinking this. _

George begins to grab his scattered notebooks, packing them into his backpack.  _ I hope I wasn’t too weird earlier. He looked a little freaked out. Did I do something? He seemed okay until we were about to leave the cafe. What happened? Fuck.  _ He throws his pencils into his pencil case, frustrated at his current dilemma. Headfirst, he facepalms the table, ignoring the prickling sensation on his forehead. 

“Jeez, so impatient.” George looks up to see Clay standing at the opening of the vast shelves of books enclosing them. “Don’t worry George I didn’t forget about you,” the younger boy takes a seat across from George, who was now wide-eyed, feeling exposed. 

“You-Whe-Clay you scared me!” George whispers, keeping his voice down. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to see you bruise your forehead.” Clay whispers, grinning. George smiles before noticing the marks on the boy’s face. He leans forward, eyebrow furrowed. 

“What happened to you?” George quickly gets out of his seat, walking over to Clay, eyes trained on his afflictions. 

“Oh, no it’s nothing,” Clay says turning away, staring at the table, voice dropping. “It’s fine don’t worry.” 

George’s hand slowly moves to Clay’s jaw, forcing the boy to meet his eyes. As his fingers touch his face, Clay winces, the pressure reminding him of the bruise that was yet to form. “Clay,” the older boy quietly says, studying his face. Now slightly crouching, George initiates eye-contact, hand still cupping his jaw. “What happened?”

Clay bites his lip, the pain in his side making a comeback. “Um. Just practice. I’m fine.” 

The boy looks at him unconvinced. “Really? ‘Just practice’ bruised your jaw and…” George trails off, touching the corner of Clay’s mouth, “dried blood?” Clay flinches again as George proceeded to hold his face, utterly worried. His hands were sympathetic, warm, a stark contrast to his clammy face. He was not used to this type of touch. He struggled to maintain eye contact, George’s piercing stare making him flustered. 

“U-um. I don’t know. Just this guy didn’t like me I guess so he purposely shoved me. It wasn’t that bad, just really annoying.” Clay softly replies, glancing downward.  _ Why am I telling him all of this? And why do I feel like crying? _

“Hey,” George replies softly, matching Clay’s voice. It was comforting, nice. “It’s not your fault.”

Clay continued to look down, fighting tears.  _ Jesus, why am I so close to crying? It’s just a few bruises. It’s nothing. _ “I’m really fine,” he insists, voice wavering, cracking as he finished his sentence.  _ Shit. _

George uses his other hand, cupping the other side of Clay’s jaw so that the boy was now looking at him directly. Clay glanced at George, still repressing his tears.  _ Why does he care so much?  _ “You’re not okay, but that’s okay you know? You can admit that.” George smiles, trying his best to uplift his friend. 

Clay smiles back, melting into his friend’s hand. A tear rolls off his cheek, quietly dropping onto the palm of George’s hand. George’s thumb grazes over the skin the tear trailed, making the other boy close his eyes, relaxed in his hands. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

George was stunned at how easily Clay crumbled the moment he touched his face. “I’m not used to this,” Clay says, meeting his eyes. His eyes were red, strained, tired, face battered and bruised. _ I hate how much this hurts me _ , George ponders as he looks at his friend’s worn face. 

“Why, do your friends never comfort you?” 

There was no response. 

“Good thing you’re friends with me.” George smiles at Clay, the silence driving him into further pain. He releases his friend’s face, turning to grab his bag which was readily packed. The younger boy frowned his face now deserted and stiff. “Come on.” George motions for Clay to get up. The boy rubs his red eyes, getting up.  _ How did he make me cry? _

Clay is stunned once again, as he feels arms wrap around his chest. It was tender, soothing, unlike anything he’s experienced since he was a child. His arms hover over George before embracing the boy pressed to his chest. Clay rests his head on George’s head, forcing himself from crying further. George held on tighter, making Clay a mess, as he buried his head into the nook of the older boy’s neck. 

“I’m sorry. I know I’m being a lot right now.” Clay breathes raggedy, clutching onto his hoodie the boy wore. 

“You don’t need to be sorry. I just want to help you feel better.”

Eyes shut, Clay let his barriers down, weak in George’s arms. Even though he was taller, he felt helpless. He let his mind ease of the events that had occurred earlier, of the pain his body was under and focused on the warm body pressed into his. 

Finally breaking away, Clay rubs his eyes again, hating that George was witnessing his pathetic state. “I’m sorry.”

George rolls his eyes, “Clay, stop. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He looks into his friend’s eyes, “It’s okay.”

Clay simply nods, smiling again at the wonderful boy.  _ Why does he have to be so nice?  _ “Why did you do that?” he asks, as the pair walk out of the library and to the bus stop. 

“That’s what you do for people you care about.” 

“Awe you care about me, Georgie! That so sweeeet!” The two then playfully bickered back and forth until reaching the bus stop, waiting for their ride. 

“Shut up I’m never going to be nice to you again.”

“Oh come on, how can you resist this.”

“Your ego is unchecked, knock down a few pegs will you?”

“I would never.”

The bus then arrived, signaling the boys to enter, both eager to head home. It was a quiet route, but a nice change in scenery for Clay as he relived the past 10 minutes in his head. He’d never realized how powerful a hug can be, or that it was ever something that would make him cry. Maybe it was his craving for physical affection due to years being starved of touch. Maybe it was George. _ Probably both, to be honest, _ he thinks to himself. He felt lucky to have such a good  **_friend_ ** . 

\---

George layed on his bed, facing the ceiling, arms crossed over his head contemplating whether he should feign sickness or force himself to join his parents. His hands rub against his arm, reaching for the hoodie that was now gone. _ I just want to sleep. _ The boy turns to his side, back facing the door as he stares at the wall connecting to his bed.  _ He slept there. _

George groans, rubbing his eyes, the events of today replaying in his head. When Clay had given him his hoodie and when George cupped his face and hugged him in the library. It was quite natural for George to be affectionate with Niki and Wilbur, they were his best friends. Yet, George’s heart strained, he felt himself sway with the boy’s every move _. We’re just friends.  _ George warns himself, the mantra repeating in his head. _ Just friends. Just friends. Just friends. There will never be anything more.  _ The words just made him feel worse. 

Now, George had to endure dinner with his parents who wanted to celebrate the boys finishing their first week of school. It was a nice gesture, but after such a draining day, it was the last thing he wanted. _ At least Clay let me shower first. _

“Alright, ready?” George turns around, still caught off guard by Clay’s shirtless habit. Clay continued to dry his hair, water dripping onto his chest. 

George stands up, walking over to Clay, eyeing his torso. A large light purple mark was forming under his ribs. “That bruise looks really... bad.” George winces as Clay looks down to observe his swelling skin.

“Oh, well I have a worse one here,” Clay responds, showing off the back of his bicep. Another bruise was forming but its hues were deeper, making George’s stomach churn. 

“I don’t like that.” George frowns, looking back up to Clay’s face eyeing the discoloration bordering the bottom of his face and the stabs of crimson scattered along his sharp jawline. His lip was lightly scared, a blood-red line slivering the bottom corner of his mouth.  _ Who did this? _

“George, don’t look at me like that,” Clay whines, not wanting to put George in distress. “I’m okay! It barely hurts.” 

George crosses his arms. “Fine. Put on a shirt we’re going downstairs.”

Clay quickly runs to his room, grabs a random shirt and stumbles behind George as they walk down the stairs. 

“Hi, mum.” George sweetly says, standing at the doorway as she places plates on the table. 

She looks up at George. “Oh hi sweetie, we’re actually about to eat so take a seat.”

Clay walks in behind George, his bruised face hidden by his wavy hair. “Hi boys.” Mr. Davidson says, eyes reading the newspaper he held. He sat at the head of the table. 

“Hi dad”

“Hi, Mr. Davidson.”

The boys take their queue to sit down. It was quiet as George’s mom set dishes on the table, the clattering of silverware filling the silence. 

Clay could sense the nervous energy George held, the boy gazing down avoiding eye contact. He played with his fingers, rubbing his thumb against his palm. Clay reminisced on George’s hands cupping his face, his hands were porcelain, perfect, gentle, and soft enough to ease him. It felt as if he held his entire existence, and at that moment all Clay could think of was George. _ George _ . His thumb wiped the wet surface of his cheek, a reminder of the tear that had forced itself out seconds beforehand.  _ George _ . The boy broke down his wall. Somehow.  _ How? _

“Clay?” Clay looks up, Mrs. Davidson calling his name. 

“Yes? Sorry.” Clay apologized, flustered. _ I was staring at George _ . 

“No worries. Just, what happened?” Mrs. Davidson asks, eyes concerned. Clay tilted his head, confused, until catching on. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, just a slip-up during hockey practice.” Clay replies, nodding his head sweetly. “It’s been a while since I used ice skates.”

She frowns, “Well I’m glad you’re okay.” A plate of roasted chicken and vegetables is set in front of him, and the hunger in his stomach pangs. Mrs. Davidson sits down, swatting the newspaper out of Mr. Davidson’s hands. They begin to eat.

\---

Clay’s plate was nearly empty and conversation at the table was dominated by the adults while Clay occasionally added comments. George was silent, communicating through nods. 

“Hockey was the coolest sport back in my day,” Mr. Davidson continued, currently asking Clay about his Hockey experience. “Always wanted George to join a sport, but he’s more of a tech guy.” 

Beside him, George tensed up, noticed only by Clay. “Computer science is still really cool. I wish I could have taken those types of classes.”

“Mark, did you hear the news about Lisa?” Mrs. Davidson interjects. “She recently proposed to her girlfriend. We’re getting wedding invitations soon!”

Mr. Davidson scoffs, “They let anyone get married nowadays, huh?” Clay chokes on the chicken he was chewing, surprised to hear the comment. 

“Don’t say that, it’s rude!” Mrs. Davidson answers, frustrated with her husband’s tone. 

“What it’s true? Ruins marriage for the rest of us.”

The two begin to bicker, Clay steadily growing uncomfortable to be in the tense room. He looked over to see George’s fists balled, knuckles white, staring at his plate. The brown-haired boy pushes his chair back, getting up.

George clears his throat. “I’m quite tired, may I excuse myself?”

His mom nods, “Sure go ahead George.” She continues on with the conversation, wholly unaware of his uncomfortable disposition. Clay waits a few seconds before excusing himself as well. 

“Thank you so much for dinner,” Clay says, smiling. He rinses his dish and makes his way to George’s room. 

_ The door is closed _ .  _ Should I stay or leave him be?  _ Clay’s fist hovers next to the door, unsure whether he should enter. His hand drops. _ No. He probably needs time to cool off _ .  _ What made him so upset? Was it the hockey thing? _

Clay turns to his door, entering his room, plopping onto the couch.  _ I’m bored. I want to talk with George.  _ He stares at the ceiling, hands on his face, picturing George’s hands. _ I like hugs _ Clay concludes.  _ Why don’t people hug more?  _ He sighs. Grabbing his phone, he opens his only text conversation.  _ It’s really 8:23? _

\---Discord---

Dream: Heyyyy

Sapnap: Heyyy, how was hockey?

Dream: eh. Some guy hates me on the team

Sapnap: that’s just one guy. did you meet more ppl?

Dream: yeah. this guy named spifey, and these two kids tommy and tubbo

Sapnap: woooooh!

Dream: haha, yeah it is pretty exciting

Sapnap: your sophomore year is gonna be good, I know it

Dream: okay pandas, thank u for ur enthusiasm

Sapnap: YEAHHHH

Dream: Yeah :)

Sapnap: I gtg, I’m still in school dude. 

Dream: okayyy, I love uuuuuu

Sapnap: you’re like obsessed with me or something. I love u too.

\---

Clay mindlessly scrolls through his social media, ultimately growing bored and restless. He groans.  _ I want to talk to George. If anything I’m obsessed with George.  _

A few more seconds pass before Clay eagerly rises, tripping over himself as he opens his door and heads to George’s room. He softly knocks. “George?”

“You can come in.”

The boy enters the room only to discover it was dark, the only light being the glow of George’s phone. “Hi,” Clay says, awkwardly standing at the doorway. He pieced out the frame of George sitting criss-cross with a large, unrecognizable hoodie on. 

“You can come in, you look so stupid standing there,” George says, a smile in his voice as he leans over to his nightstand turning on his lamp. 

Clay closes the door sitting at the desk chair, noticing the hoodie George was wearing in the light. “Is that mine?”

George looks surprised, tripping over his words rushing to explain himself. “I’m sorry! I couldn’t really tell between t-this one and the others on my chair- It’s because when I showered I-i threw it with the rest of them and I didn’t-” 

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” Clay softly chuckles, as the boy’s face was flushed crimson. 

“Here, sorry, I really didn’t know-” George begins to take it off.

“Hey, it’s okay! You can wear it, I know it’s comfortable.” Clay smiles, trying to not laugh at George.

George stops, cheeks still red, “Okay.”

“Anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out.” The boy nods in response.

Clay nods. It was hard to get George to talk, this response was expected. “So, I get the feeling you like Harry Potter.”

“Mhm.”

“Do you want to rewatch the movies with me?” Clay says, looking at George. “Pleaseee?”

George lights up. “Wait really? You want to do that?”

“Why else would I suggest it, idiot?”

George grins, humming in agreement. Clay jumps onto George’s bed, causing George to shout and flail his arms. “Oh my god, you’re so stupid.” He whines, Clay, getting comfortable in the spot next to him. 

“Oh come on,” Clay nudges George as the boy reaches for his remote. 

Clay reaches for the Ravenclaw blanket that spreads at the edge of the bed, bringing it to his body. The plush pillows behind his back and security of the blanket allowed him to fully relax, the older boy’s presence comforting his worries. His bones felt weary and weak, the full extent of his injuries finally setting in. Repositioning the pillow behind him, the purple mark on his side burning as he clutches onto the pillow inwreathing in pain. “Mother fucker,” he mutters, the pain intensifying.

George, who was currently searching for the movie, stopped, almost dropping the remote.  _ Did he just curse? _ He thought to himself, peering over to the boy. Clay’s eyes were shut closed, wincing as he gripped onto the pillow, breath heavy and ragged. “Fuck.” He had somehow cursed even quieter, but the hum in his voice was enough to make George turn red before frantically looking away.  _ Stop looking at him like that. _ Forcing himself to look at the tv, the boy felt his heart beating in his ears. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, terrified the other boy could hear the panic in the inflections of his voice. 

Another breathy sigh and George wanted to hide under his blanket. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s-ugh-it’s just my bruises.”

“That sounds like it hurts…” George cringes at himself, feeling worse for enjoying the noise. “Hey, I have some of those Icy Hot patches, let me get them.” He gets up, rushing to his bathroom cabinet to find it. 

George enters the room again, an unopened box in hand. “See, I never use these,” he chuckles, Clay’s silence making him uncomfortable. The other boy nods in response, trying his best to hide the full extent of his pain from George.  _ I already cried in front of him _ , he tells himself, biting his lip. The older boy rips open the box, hurrying to open the wrapping and offer it to Clay. 

“Here,” George says, handing over the patch to Clay. He eyes the patch, before looking back up to the boy giving it to him. 

“Um, yeah I can’t put that on myself.”  _ It means I have to twist over and reach down. Which means moving the part of my body in the most pain. _ Clay lifts his shirt by the side, wincing from moving his arms, a large bruise already afflicting one. “Just put it on, I can’t even see it.”

Glancing down at the boy’s tanned body, George gaped at his toned abs, sensing his cheeks blush. “Okay…” he voice trails, as he now eyes the blue-purple wound, resting on his side just below the ribs. Leaning forward, George begins to gently apply the patch. Clay swallows his groan feeling the ice-cold patch resting on his beaten skin. He sits up, still holding his breath.  _ I’m being such a baby about this. _

“Here too?” Clay asks, pointing behind his other arm. George nods, grabbing another patch, ready for application. He leans in closer, the bruise being on the other side of his body behind his bicep. Slowly lifting his arm, George once again tenderly places the patch as Clay braces for pain. 

“Are you feeling okay?” George asks, his concern for Clay taking over any prior feelings. He sits back to his spot on the bed, waiting for the boy to respond.

Clay slowly nods, “Don’t worry, I will.” He rests his head on the pillow, back on the bed so as not to twist his side. “Just start the movie.” 

“Okay.” He clicks the movie to play, resting on his side of the bed. He gleefully watched the beginning, happy that Clay was with him. He hears the boy breathing beside him, and he glances over to check on him. Eyes trained on the movie, the boy was smiling. 

Feeling someone watching him, Clay looks up to see George gazing down at him. George looks away, embarrassed he caught him. An idea pops into Clay’s head. “Hey, George? Can I lay on you a bit?”

“W-what?”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to-”

“Oh, no, it’s okay, go ahead.” George adjusts himself closer to Clay, not wanting to force him to move. 

George’s heart began beating again, as the younger boy tenderly laid his head on George’s stomach, the elevation helping him to see the screen better than before. “Thank you,” Clay says softly, cheek against the other boy’s body. 

The tone in his voice made George’s heart skip, as the boy below him curled into him, intently watching the movie. As much as George loved Harry Potter, he could not take his eyes off him.  _ What is wrong with me. I’m so soft. _ The light of the TV highlights Clay’s profile, the curve of his nose, the freckles on his face, the indentions of his lips.  _ He’s so… _ George struggled with himself to admit what he was thinking, pushing it away as he stares back at the TV. 

His stomach pools with guilt, reminiscing on how his heart ached when he saw Clay cry. How he wanted to drown in his embrace. How wrong he felt. How terribly, gut-wrenchingly, wrong he felt. 

The biggest secrets George kept were ones that would ruin his social life. Three big secrets. They were what haunted him every day, what made his skin crawl and writhe, and he was terrified.  _ I hate to drag Clay into it.  _ He looks down at the boy, feeling even worse.  _ I’m such a mess. He’s going to hate me when he knows who I am.  _

A long piece of hair falls in front of Clay’s face, obscuring his eyesight. As he lifts his arm to adjust it, George reaches for the curl, tucking it behind the boy’s ear. His fingers linger in the boy’s hair, intertwined in his dirty blonde locks. George’s eyes widen in realization as he moves his hand away, wondering whether he should apologize or forget it happened. 

“I liked that.” Clay simply says, not daring to move. Unbeknownst to George, Clay has been internally panicking, furiously blushing.  _ From embarrassment? _ He thinks to himself, trying to focus on the movie. Ever since George held him, Clay ached for more. He craved it.  _ That’s normal. Friend’s do that kind of stuff.  _

To his request, George strokes his hair again. Clay holds his breath, not wanting to scare the boy away. The fingers in his hair made him weak. 

George was twirling with the boy’s hair, reddening at how forward he was. His heart kept reminding him of his truth, how he really felt. He was reminded of it at dinner and now could not escape it. It was suffocating. And he resented how much he loved to shower Clay with physical affection. Conflicting, but that was where George stood.  _ I wish he knew. _

The first secret George kept was that he and Niki weren’t actually dating. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow my twt for memes and feraltwt content. @desnootfound
> 
> my friend takes time to quickly edit my chapters now, so big shoutout to @katmcyt on twt, she's amazing :]


	5. cardigans and crop tops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know I do, right?”
> 
> “What? Care about me?” There’s a beat of silence. 
> 
> “Yeah.” 
> 
> The indirect confirmation was enough for Clay, who sweetly smiled as he continued to follow raindrops with George. “I care about you too.”
> 
> Clay admires George, his nose perfectly curved, his eyelashes fluttering as his eyes follow the race. It took all his strength to suppress the pounding beat trapped in his chest, a foreign sensation he hadn’t quite understood yet. Was it because he was scared?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> real quick, I wanted to mention how there is mention of internalized homophobia and "underage drinking". just in case that is something that is triggering to anyone :) 
> 
> The songs mentioned in this chapter are respectively Steamroller by Phoebe Bridgers and Can't Take My Eyes Off You by Private Island.
> 
> If the CC's ever state they feel uncomfortable with fanfiction I would be more than happy to take this down. As of now, both CC's have expressed consent. I hope you enjoy :)

The boys ended up falling asleep, Clay lazily resting his head on George’s stomach, George’s fingers gently intertwined with dirty blonde locks. The younger boy woke up first, the morning sunshine interrupting his slumber. At first, the boy curled closer, cold in his short-sleeve shirt, attracted to the warmth beside him. It was until he heard soft exhalations, his pillow rising in momentum with the sound, and felt familiar fingers tugging his hair he realized. He slowly crawled out of the grasp before George woke up. 

\---

The rest of the weekend was naturally uneventful; all the boys did was watch Harry Potter movies and lounge lazily. It was perfect for George who loved the tranquillity, drained from such an occupied week of homework and Clay’s relentless energy. Clay also enjoyed the weekend, mostly because he was able to hang out with George. 

There were moments however that made him freeze. Whether it was a brush of the fingers, or George leaning on him, Clay felt a rush in his body and overwhelming itching in his skin. He felt it crawling to his throat making him squeamish. 

Even when school began, every moment George would meet his eyes during lunch, he became uncomfortably aware of his breathing, anxious over whether anyone noticed. Once he’d choked on his water. George just laughed at him, his pearly smile twisting the knife deeper in his chest. He didn’t know what was happening, and why his stomach felt like moths trapped in a jar whenever he was near George. Or even just saw him. 

Before long, it was Friday again, and Clay dreaded lunch, his mind conflicted from feeling on edge around George. _Why is this happening?_ He thought, making his way to the front office on his daily route to meet George for lunch. Only last week he looked forward to seeing his friend, but now felt sick. _Is sick even the right word?_

“Alright, let’s go,” George says, catching sight of Clay. George was always happy to see Clay, lips curling into a grin as the boy drew near. 

Clay nodded, walking alongside George to their table outside. “How’s your day going?”

Words spewed out of George’s mouth, detailing the project he was currently coding in his computer science class, growing more excited as he continued. The boy spoke softly, Clay barely listening to the words coming out of his mouth, instead counting the freckles on his face. His gentle brown eyes crinkled at the ends. _He’s just so..._ Clay stops himself, a pit in his stomach pooling, he gazes down at his shoes. _Fuck._

“Finally my favorite boys are here!” Wilbur exclaims from the table, Niki beside him drawing. The voice snaps Clay back into reality.

The friends begin to chatter, as Clay silently stares off into the distance. _What am I doing?_

“Remember. We are meeting after school so we can all take the bus together after Clay’s practice,” Wilbur lectures the group. 

Niki rolls her eyes. “Wilbur you’ve been telling us for the past two days we know.”

“I’m just really excited,” Wilbur pouts, “We haven’t done this in such a long time. Plus we have a new guest.”

Clay smiles at the mention of his attendance. Today the group planned on celebrating Wilbur’s 18th birthday by throwing a “huge party”. Well, at least Wilbur wanted to have a huge party. Clay was more excited about sleeping over after. He was surprised he was even invited, but to be fair he was a package deal with George. _They probably just want to be polite._

“We won’t forget. I promise.” Clay smiles. Wilbur nods and continues to eat his lunch, occasionally commenting to Niki about her drawing. Clay returns his attention to his own food. George had consistently made breakfast every school morning and still had time to make Clay lunch every day. Looking to his side, Clay watches George stifle a yawn. _He looks tired_ . The eye bags under the boy’s eyes become more visible in the lighting. _How long was he studying?_

“Did you even sleep well?” Clay whispers to George.

George peers back up caught off guard. “Oh, no not really. But it’s fine.” He stifles another yawn from escaping his mouth. 

“George.” Clay frowns. 

“Fine, I am tired, but I’ll survive.” The boy smiles wearily, resting on his arms folded on the table. 

“Not good enough.” Clay opens his backpack, taking out his iconic green hoodie, resting it on his lap. “Come on, take a nap we have 30 minutes.” 

George widens his eyes, shocked, sitting up as Clay kindly looks at him, waiting for the boy to accept his offer. There is none. 

“God you’re such an idiot,” Clay rolls his eyes, “Come on it’s not going to hurt you.”

“Fine,” George forces a frown, slowly laying down to rest his head on Clay’s lap. _I didn’t have to do that_ Clay thinks as he watches the older boy get comfortable, shutting his eyes. 

It only took two minutes for him to sleep, confirming Clay’s suspicions. _Stop staring._ He returns to his lunch, unaware of the pair of inquisitive eyes watching from across the table. 

\---

“See you next week,” Spifey waves to Clay, who was beginning to leave the locker room. “Sorry about the… eye thing.”

Clay turns around, still walking, and shrugs. “Bye!” Turning back to the exit, he touches his eye, the newfound bruise already setting. _This is going to look so ugly._ Once again, the curly-haired, hot-headed asshole Noah had “accidentally” knocked Clay with his stick, resulting in a few minor bruises, but prominently a black eye. His stiff finger gently touches the area, recoiling immediately from the stinging sensation it inflicted. The past week he’d been going to meetings every other day, minor bruises inflicted on his ankles from the skates. But it seems every Friday Noah would find a way to push Clay. Upon seeing his friends waiting near the bus stop at a distance, he smiles, ignoring the hurt. 

“Hey!” Clay exclaims, waving to the three people who stood talking. One by one he notices their heads pop up, and begin to wave back. 

“Hey!” Wilbur shouts back as Clay jogs to catch up. 

“How was-” George’s face drops when he notices the markings on Clay’s face. 

“What happened,” Niki asks, quietly, but still concerned. The three wait for Clay to respond, only to be met with hesitation.

“Just an accident, don’t even worry about it,” Clay answers, giving a quick thumbs up. 

Wilbur winces, still eyeing the deep bruise, “We’re gonna get you some ice for that.” Niki sympathetically smiles. 

“So, we’re leaving now?” He asks, rubbing his hands together for warmth. 

Wilbur reflects, cringing. “No. I have to wait for my brother. I’m sure you’ve already met by now.”

_Brother?_

“Big man! Happy to see all the amigos together again.” A voice booms ahead, one so brash and loud, it could only belong to one person. 

“Tommy?” Clay questions, looking up to notice the blonde walking up to the group. Behind him, the shorter, brown-haired boy trailed alongside. 

“Wilbur, can I stay the night you think?” Tubbo catches up, half out of breath. The older boy towers over the boy, unenthused. 

“Did you tell your mum?”

“Yes!” 

He groans, Tubbo still smiling excitedly under him. “Fine, but you’re both staying strictly in Tommy’s room.”

“Yes sir!” Tubbo enthusiastically salutes him. Wilbur puts his face into his hands. 

“Heyyyyy Big Man. Didn’t know you hung out with these lads.” Tommy nudges Clay, a curious hint in his voice. He then erupts in boisterous laughter. _How does he still have energy?_

“You’re Wilbur’s brother?” Clay asks, still disoriented. 

Tommy smiles, “The one and only.”

Tubbo pouts. “Hey, I count too!”

“Yes of course you do,” Niki smiles.   
  


“My god Niki I haven’t seen you in so long. And George!” Tommy excitedly hugs the two, both caught off guard. 

“Get off me, Tommy!” George laughs, pushing him away. 

“Look at you two. Such love birds. I hate it.” Tommy exclaims, laughing with Tubbo. The comment makes Clay tense up. _These kids sure are something._

“Jeez, Noah really did a number on you huh,” Tubbo says, gazing up at Clay. George’s breath halts, eyes widening at the mention of the name. Niki tenses up beside him, warmly resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

Clay apprehensively laughs, unbeknownst to the nervous energy that his friends radiated, “It’s okay-”

“That man likes to beat you up a lot, I reckon it’s because you’re American.” Tommy and Tubbo burst into laughter again, as Clay begins to blush crimson. 

“He does not beat me up! He just knocks me over!” 

“Wait, who did you say did that?” Wilbur looks up from his phone, returning to the conversation.

“This lad Noah hates Clay for some reason,” Tubbo giggles, wrapping a scarf from his bag around his neck to counter the frozen weather. 

Wilbur’s eyes widen, less subtle than Niki and George’s reactions. Clay notices his fists gripped at his sides. Niki and George exchanged a quick glance before averting their eyes to their feet. 

“Anyways, let’s get on then, yeah?” George says, attempting to dissolve Wilbur’s growing angst. Hurriedly, he motions to the boys to run ahead as the bus pulls into the street beside them, everyone following along. One by one, the group pulls out their bus cards and enters the vehicle, George talking to the driver briefly to count Clay. 

Everyone sits down, settling in for the 20-minute bus ride to Wilbur’s apartment. George was quiet as Clay sat down next to him, everyone else sitting in the open seats ahead. 

Clay bit the inside of his cheek, wondering why Wilbur had acted so strangely to the name. Looking at the boy beside him, he catches George looking at him. “What?” George holds eye contact until Clay realizes he was studying his bruised eye. 

“Why didn’t you tell me who hurt you?” The older boy says quietly, looking away. The torn expression tugged Clay’s chest. 

“I’m sorry…” He trails off, glancing away, “I didn’t think you cared that much.” As the words left his mouth he already regretted speaking them. 

George looks back to Clay, now frowning. “What? Why would you think that?”

The expression on the boy’s face turned gloomy, eyes wide and vulnerable. “I-I don’t know,” Clay’s face felt hot, as he tripped over his words. “You’ve never said it.”

The boys are quiet, the ambient vibrations of traffic and muted conversation filling the noise. Clay offers George a headphone, scared to push him too far. He takes it, crossing his arms and looking out the window. Clay glances towards the window as well, resting his gaze on the older boy’s silhouette. The older boy traces his finger following a raindrop as it drips down the glass. _Don’t push him._ Clay leans forward, finding a raindrop next to George’s, mimicking the boy’s actions. 

George could feel the other boy’s face above his ear, the presence sending trickles down his back. _Why am I being so sensitive about this?_ He thinks to himself, knowing a blush was spreading along his cheeks. His breath hitches, pondering whether to break the silence. The two boys continued to race, their fingers barely brushing. 

“You know I do, right?”

“What? Care about me?” There’s a beat of silence. 

“Yeah.” 

The indirect confirmation was enough for Clay, who sweetly smiled as he continued to follow raindrops with George. “I care about you too.” Notes softly continued to play, the lyrics passing over his head as he instead preferred to focus on George’s words ringing in his head.

Through headphones, music entertains the quiet, the song approaching its end. 

_“You’re a brother to me, you’re my partner in crime,”_ a female voice sings, voice raw. Clay admires George, his nose perfectly curved, his eyelashes fluttering as his eyes follow the race. 

_“You’re the feeling I get when I’m feeling fine.”_

It took all his strength to suppress the pounding beat trapped in his chest, a foreign sensation he hadn’t quite understood yet. Was it because he was scared?

_“Part of me wants you, but most of me needs you. So I won’t fall unless you ask me to.”_

\---

“Alright, let’s roll,” Wilbur exclaims in a mock American accent, long recovered from whatever mood he was in earlier. He effortlessly twirls a set of car keys in his hand, skipping down the stairs of the apartment. Clay adjusts the ice pack resting on his eyes, wincing slightly at the sting, following Wilbur. 

“See you soon!” “Bye!” Niki and George shout from the bathroom upstairs, currently adjusting for the party that was scheduled to commence soon. The two boys were off to buy beers for the party, leaving Niki and George to get ready. 

George hears the front door shut and lets himself relax, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He sat on the sink, Niki directly facing the sink mirror touching up her makeup. “You are so obvious,” she giggles, gliding a mascara wand over her lashes. 

Flustered, George stutters out, “Wh-what do you mean?”

Niki rolls her eyes. After being best friends with the boy since secondary school, some secrets can’t be kept. George knew this, Niki and Wilbur were the only people he trusted enough to know most everything about him. Or at least, that’s what he’d intended before Clay had interrupted his life, and now his plan had derailed. As much as he hated it, Niki was right. _I am so obvious._ It made him want to kick himself for being so naive. 

“Is there something going on with you two?” Niki hums, sing-song, straightening up her eyeliner. Her words were playful but drove daggers into his heart. 

“Niki!” George falters, the words panging in his chest. The one thing he’s been trying to avoid yet Clay made it so difficult to. It was a guilty conscience that plagued him. His second secret. Even just thinking about it made his stomach hurt, how hopeless it was. _I just need to stop._ “I-I don’t know.”

Finishing up, Niki turns to George, her joking smile gone. “George. You know we can’t keep playing this performance.” She looked serious. 

.

“I know I know.” He gulps. “But they’re going to hate me.”

Niki furrows her brows in concern, watching as George struggles to restrain his emotions which were overflowing like the tears in his eyes. “Hey,” She says, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, “They’re not going to hate you. And if for some reason they can’t accept who you are, we have the plan, remember?”

George simply nods. He craved for the feeling of normality. Yearned to not think the way he did, that he could have become the boy his parents desired. _Instead of me._ George hated to cry in front of his friends. “My parents think I’m going to marry you” He softly smiles, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Oh quiet,” She softly laughs, “In the end I want you to be happy. Do you think Wilbur and I don’t see how happy Clay makes you?”

The feeling returns, rotting into his soul. Despite how happy Clay made him, thinking about anything more made his head hurt. “Niki. I-I,” He sighs, “I cant. I don’t like him like that. And I still don’t think I’m… ready for anything yet.” 

She smiles sympathetically. “George, it’s been almost a year.”

“Yeah...” George looks down tensely, trying to stop himself from recounting memories. 

“Yeah, I know.” Niki extends her arms out, wrapping George in a hug. “Thing’s take time. And I know it really hurts.” Shutting his eyes, he sinks into her embrace, his arms hooked beneath her shoulders as he attempts to manage his breathing. _Clay deserves more than me,_ he concludes, tightening his grip on Niki. 

“I’m sorry,” George croaks, face buried into her shoulder. She rubs his back motherly, letting him catch his breath. A minute passes before the boy regains his composure, and pulls away.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Niki says, her voice genuine as she looks into his eyes. 

George gingerly nods, already upset at himself for being so vulnerable. “Okay. Let’s stop talking about this. I hate feeling bad about myself.” The mirror reflected his poor state, red rings forming under his eyes, eyelashes coated with tears. 

Niki nods, smiling gently. “Let’s get you ready before the boys are back, okay?”

The boy tilts his head, confused, “Get ready? I’m already ready!” 

“This is Wilbur’s 18th birthday, you are not going to wear a hoodie for it.” Niki chuckles, getting up leading George to Wilbur’s room. She opens his closet, full of colorful sweaters, monochromatic clothes, and fancy shirts. 

“I don’t need fancy clothes!” George whines, as Niki pulls out shirts, planning outfits as if he was a doll. 

“Oh! Wilbur got this new shirt the other day…” She digs further into the closet, picking a random shopping bag from the back. “It was a little small on him.”

Hesitantly handing the bag to George, he looks inside and picks up a cropped black shirt. “There is no way I’m wearing this, I’m just asking to be bullied,” He laughs, returning it to Niki. She pouts dramatically to show her discontent.

“Awe okay, maybe I was a bit ambitious with that.” She takes the shirt back, taking a step back as she observes the closet. 

\---

George barely recognized himself after Niki had finished dressing him up. He wore a dark knitted sweater with ornate yellow stars, its material comfortably resting on his body. _“So you can match with me!” Niki would then say, showing off her star necklace._ It was sweet, so George agreed. But upon catching his reflection in the mirror, was startled by the image. The sweater’s collar curved lower than usual, his collar bones protruding slightly. Because of this, his shoulders appear slimmer, the sweater matching his black jeans. The next step in Niki’s outfit took her 2 minutes to convince George, who was already pushing his comfort zone. _“It’s not going to be much, '' Niki had assured him, lightly applying smudged eyeliner under his eye, careful to not poke. “You see, it’s soft.”_

George would be lying if he said he didn’t look good, now staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Niki stood beside him, an accomplished look on her face, excited that the two were coordinating. 

The sound of the front door creaking open made George jerk. He gawks at the makeup on his eyes, uncertain about his appearance. _God what if he thinks I’m weird?_ It was very possible Clay was not as open-minded as he’d hoped. Most people he’d met weren’t, so what made Clay the exception? _He lived in Florida of all places_ , George realized, _He might hate people like me._ George nibbled at his lip, paying no attention to the chorus of greetings from the front of the apartment. His anxiety nipped at his brain, seeping into his every thought. _What if he hates me?_

**Slam.** The sound of the door closing brought George’s attention back to reality. Turning to investigate the noise, he notices Niki’s hand holding the bathroom door closed. 

“What’s wrong?” Niki asks, ignoring the loud chatter coming from Wilbur and Clay from downstairs. 

George blankly stares at her. “Oh. Um. I just-” He gulps, unaware of how to formulate his thoughts into words. “I don’t want him to think I’m weird.”

Her shoulders lose tension, relieved. “Oh, George. You don’t need to worry about that. That boy honestly adores you.” She pats his arm smiling, “I don’t think a little eyeliner will scare him off.”

George nods. “Hey, Niki. I genuinely don’t like him like that, but I really want to be better friends with him… I just don't know how.” His voice is hushed, knowing Wilbur and Clay were probably upstairs in Wilbur’s room. _I feel so stupid asking for advice._

As Niki and George continued to talk in the bathroom, the boys made their way to Wilbur’s room. Upon taking a step into his room, Clay carefully sits on the large bed. Posters and drawings hung all over his walls, figurines, and trinkets cluttered all over the boy's desk. Peeking in corners of the room, he spotted clothes strewn around. An electronic piano sat beside his bed, along with an amp. Wires were strewn across the floor, his eyes landing on a guitar case leaning on the closet Wilbur was currently scouring. The taller boy eventually pulls out his phone, connecting to a speaker that sat idly on his dresser. 

Wilbur bobbed his head to the music, laying out the different shirt options. 

_“You’re just too good to be true… Can’t take my eyes off you…”_ The male voice sang through the speaker on Wilbur’s messy desk. Instead of the classic version of the song, this one was covered by some obscure Indie band. Wilbur sang along quietly, his voice soothing, and gentle on the ear. 

Clay sat crisscross on the bed, watching Wilbur eliminate options. Nervously fidgeting, Clay felt himself grow worried over the party that was soon to happen. As a 16-year-old, he had never been to a high school party, and his uneasiness worsened after the pair had driven in Wilbur’s car to pick up beer. As he mulled over his inexperience, Wilbur had finally decided on a shirt, its material a satin black silk, long sleeve, and collared delicately. 

_“Why are we dressing up?” Clay had laughed earlier, helping Wilbur to carry cases of alcohol into the car. “My hoodie is fine.”_

_Wilbur rolled his eyes, smirking as he opened his car door. “It’s my birthday, we’re going to look cool.”_

“Hm. I don’t remember putting this here…” Wilbur murmurs, picking up a shopping bag off the ground. He trifles its contents. “It was probably Niki.”

He looks over to Clay who was distracted by the decorated walls around Wilbur’s room. 

“Are you okay mate?” Wilbur asks, lightly laughing. 

Clay looks over to him, nodding. “Yeah. Just don’t know what to expect really.”

“Oh, you’ve never been to a party?”

“No.”

“Ah okay,” Wilbur nods, offering an encouraging smile, “Don’t worry, It’s not as intimidating as movies make it seem. And don’t feel obligated to drink, that’s more for the upperclassman.” 

He hands the shopping bag over to Clay, who looks inside it to see a cropped black shirt. “I got that recently but I’m not slender enough for it. I reckon you are, but I’m not sure if it’s your style.” 

Clay could never have envisioned himself wearing this. That being said, he wasn’t against it. “I’ll try it out. I have no sense of style so if you bought it I trust it.” 

Wilbur laughs at the comment, walking over to a mirror that hung over his dresser. He then begins to accessorize with some necklaces as Clay changes out of his old clothes. Standing up, the crop top exposes more of his stomach than he anticipated, the sleeves hugging his biceps. 

“I wasn’t expecting this,” Clay laughs, not embarrassed but rather caught off guard. He walks over next to Wilbur to look at his reflection, surprised to see how well the shirt complimented his body. It wasn’t drastic, but just enough so that he actually liked it. It also made his muscles look good, which is always a plus. 

“What the hell, why does that look better on you!” Wilbur exclaims, catching sight of Clay. Clay laughs, the material feeling odd on his skin. “I hate you, I really do.” 

“Oh come on Wilbur, you look really good!” Clay exclaimed as Wilbur sprayed cologne on his wrists. 

Wilbur rolls his eyes, still smiling. “Clay what the hell! You need to wear cooler clothes, you look good in them!” Turning to Clay, Wilbur looks him up and down, a thoughtful look on his face. He ruffles his hair and hands him cologne, which Clay applies. “Alright, let’s go check on Niki and George, they’ve been in the bathroom too long for comfort.”

Clay follows Wilbur as he knocks on the bathroom door softly, the murmurs inside stopping. Niki opens the door slightly, peeking up at Wilbur. “Hm?”

“You know people are showing up soon, right?” Wilbur says, smiling down at Niki. She nods. 

“Can you put some eyeliner on me pretty please?” He asks, batting his eyelashes. Makeup on men was foreign to Clay, who was surprised to hear Wilbur request it so casually. _It’s just makeup, so if he doesn’t care why should I?_

“Me too?” Clay pipes, looming over Wilbur’s shoulder. 

Niki giggles, “Everyone is matching today!” She grabs the eyeliner on the sink and walks out of the bathroom. Both boys sat on the floor, innocently waiting for Niki to finish. One by one, she softly applied the black pencil under the boy’s eyes, smoking it out smoothly.

Clay slowly grew comfortable, Niki’s supportive smile and Wilbur’s nonchalant attitude making him feel safe. Once she finished, both boys scrambled to the bathroom mirror, laughing as they tripped on each other. 

“We look cool!” Wilbur laughs, messing Clay’s hair up as the two leaned closer to their reflections.

“Hey, I’m here too!” George grumpily exclaims, crossing his arms as he leans on the wall across the bathroom. 

Wilbur turns first, surprised to see George well-dressed. “You finally let Niki dress you, huh?”

Clay paid no notice to the short conversation that followed between the two. Instead, he looked at George curiously, eyeing the outfit and how well it suited the boy. The sweater made him appear smaller, more delicate than usual. His hair was fuller, more tousled, and effortlessly laid. He was pretty. Clay always knew George was pretty, but it was now an undeniable fact that slapped him in the face leaving him speechless. 

He feels Wilbur’s presence leaving the bathroom, talking to Niki about something, leaving Clay and George alone. 

Clay slowly began to feel more exposed, midriff showing as he stood opposite to George, who blankly stared at Clay, making it worse. George’s gaze was intimidating. 1. Because he had a resting bitch face. 2. Because it was unreadable. Clay could never quite decipher what the boy was feeling based on his look, and George was an expert at concealing said feelings. 

“You look good,” Clay says, breaking the silence first. George looks down at his sweater.

“Niki wanted to match,” George replies, nonchalant, his voice even and unwavering unlike Clay’s. 

The mention of the girl George was dating felt like a slap to the face. “Cute,” Clay mustered up in response. _Ouch_. 

George simply nods, smiling. “Come on, let’s help finish setting up.” The older boy leaves the room, leaving Clay flustered.

The older boy walked away, face transforming once out of sight from Clay. George clasps his hand over his mouth, face red as fire. _He looks so good._ Biting his lip, he makes his way downstairs to Niki and Wilbur, fighting with himself to quit thinking about him. But instead, images of his piercing golden eyes and toned muscles replayed, almost making him fall down the stairs. 

\---

Similarly, Clay had been ogling George, even once the party began. It was 9 pm, and there was no indication the event would end anytime soon. People surrounded him, the lights were dimmed, loud conversation mixed with music should have made it difficult to think. Yet all he could think about was George. _George, George, George._ He was stuck in a crowded room, yet his attention stayed on the boy beside him, who hadn’t left his side since the first guest arrived. 

With a gentle tug on his shirt, Clay looked to George who shyly stood next to him. The two stood near the staircase, choosing to keep each other company rather than join the dancing in the living room.

“Hi,” George says, looking up to Clay. The simple action was enough to make the younger boy freeze, interrupting his daydream about the boy right next to him. He crooks his neck, making eye contact with him, his brown eyes wide. George started to say something but Clay couldn’t hear him over the loud music.

Clay lowers himself slightly, the music pounding, the noise filling almost every crevice in the air. Now closer to George’s face, he was able to admire the boy properly. He noticed his bright eyes and the way the eyeliner emphasized his grace. His lips were curved into a light smile as he mouths words. Clay nods, absent-mindedly recording the boy's features. 

“Hello? Did you hear me?” The boy’s voice reminds Clay he was supposed to be listening. _Was I just smiling at him this whole time?_

“Oh, sorry, what did you say?” _This is embarrassing._

“I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be back.” George then slips past Clay, heading upstairs. 

Clay stared at the wall blankly, feeling himself sink into guilt. _Why do I keep looking at him like that? God, Why do I act so stupid in front of him?_ Head on his hand, he shuts his eyes wincing as he reminisces on his behavior the past two hours. _I have no filter around him. Niki and Wilbur must notice it, why am I acting like this? And my chest is so loud, and my hands are shaking. It’s like I have a crush on him._

Clay’s eyes shoot open. _Fuck, no no no, why did I say that. Shut up. What was that?_ He runs his hand through his hair, breathing staggered. _I don’t like him like that. How could I? I’m not gay._ Someone pushes past Clay, reminding him he is still around people. He looks up, growing awareness of the crowd. _There are too many people here._ He sprints upstairs, walking into a presumably empty room next to Wilbur’s. His eyes were glued on the door, back faced away from the room. _Just breathe._

“Dammit, Tubbo I told you we should have locked the door! Those drunken wankers are gonna come in here!” A voice behind him exclaims. Clay spins around, surprised to see Tubbo and Tommy sitting on a bed, controllers in hand. He turns to see a TV, Minecraft brightly displayed in the darkness. 

“Clay? Is that you?” Tubbo says, squinting his eyes. “What’s up with the shirt and makeup?”

“Oh.” Clay turns red, “Just something they made me wear.” His voice was hoarse, cracking at the end of the sentence. Fuck. 

Tommy continues to stare at Clay, deep in thought. “Tommy! You’re dying!” 

“Oh shit.” The two return their attention to the game. _Minecraft._ He turns his attention to the TV. It had been a while since he last played. His laptop wasn’t strong enough to run it, making Sapnap bored out of his mind.

Clay walks over to the boys sitting on the bed with them. “I haven’t played this game in so long.” 

“You play?” Tubbo asks, intently focused on killing creepers who were spawning outside a cobblestone hut. 

“Yeah. A lot actually. Well, at least I used to.”

“Ooo, Niki Wilbur and George all play too!” Tubbo exclaims, “Awe we can all play together!” _George plays?_

“Oh, cool! I actually didn’t know that.” Clay stares blankly at the boys, who were preoccupied with the game. 

“Hey mate, are you okay?” Tommy turns around, watching Clay. _Of course, he noticed._

“Oh. Yeah. Just taking a break from you know.” Clay motions outside the door. Tommy nods his head, returning to the game. It was nice to take a break, the music sounded quieter, helping him to feel less claustrophobic. 

“I like the fit big man,” Tubbo says, gaze unwavering from the TV. 

Clay smiles, appreciative of Tubbo’s kind nature. “Thank you Tubbo. Alright, guys, I’m going to leave, but have fun!” He picks himself off the bed, opening the door ready to enter the party again. The two boys shoot him brief waves goodbye, attention still on the glowing screen. 

Jogging downstairs, he scans the hallway searching for George. _Where is he?_ He takes a deep breath, eyeing the larger group of people crowding the kitchen and living room areas. Scouring the crowd, he makes his way around each room, finally spotting George in the kitchen grabbing a drink. A warmth blooms in his chest, smiling as he maneuvers his way past the crowd.

“George!” Clay calls, the music thumping even louder. He pushes for a spot beside George, who looked startled as he cracked open a beer can. 

“Clay? Where were you?” George asks, rose blush painting his face. He was hoping to down a drink before Clay found him. 

“Sorry, I accidentally walked into Tommy’s room and we talked for a bit.” Clay rubs the back of his neck, nervously laughing. 

“Oh, no worries.” George froze, unsure of whether he should continue.

“Um-”

“You know-”

They both pause. 

“You can drink in front of me, it's okay,” Clay says, smiling slightly, reassuringly patting George’s shoulder. The tender caress was enough to make his stomach flutter. 

“Are you sure? I thought you were uncomfortable with it, and I didn’t want to make you feel pressured-”

“Nah, it’s okay. I just choose not to, it’s a personal choice.” 

George hesitantly nods, leisurely taking a sip from the can. The bitter taste easily slides down his throat as he proceeds to drink half the can.   
  


“Jesus Christ, that doesn’t mean drink it all in one sitting.” Clay laughs loudly, a smile growing wider. 

George fights a grin. “Shut up! This is how I normally drink!” 

“You’re such an idiot.” Despite the word choice, Clay utters them warmly. The tone of his voice was soft, it was a miracle George caught it in the noise of the room. 

“No, you.” George nudges Clay, who wheezes even harder at the terrible comeback. The older boy turns around to keep drinking without Clay’s watchful gaze. And to hide his blushing face. _I can’t wait till this party is over._ George muses, a hidden grin on his face as he swivels the drink in hand. 

“Hey.” A foreign voice purrs behind George. George turns around to see a girl prattling to Clay. 

“Um. Hi?” Clay’s voice hesitates as he takes a step back. The girl who stood in front of Clay was beautiful, her blonde hair falling past her shoulders. Her top was snug, along with the jeans that clung to her hips. She did not look 18. Perhaps because she wasn’t. George could tell by her confidence and charm that the girl had to be one of Wilbur’s older university friends. 

The girl sweetly smiles, taking another sip from the drink in her hands. “I like your shirt.” She takes a step forward, making Clay flinch. “Your eyeliner is hot, too.” _Hot?_ The word pricked at George’s skin, he narrowed his eyes.

“Thanks,” Clay utters, unenthused. He crosses his arms, already over the interaction. _He doesn’t like you, take the hint_. The girl did not take the cue. 

She giggles, her hand softly covering her mouth. “Did you get in a fight?”

Clay shrugs. “I guess.”

“Wanna go dance, pretty boy?” Her hand grazes his shoulder, she looks up at him. _Stop that._ George takes a step forward, sliding his arm around Clay’s waist. This time Clay does not flinch, instead just looks down at George puzzled. 

“Hi,” George interjects, unable to hide the snarky tone in his voice. He didn’t care. Leaning onto Clay’s shoulder, he looks at her smiling. His fingers brush the smooth skin along Clay’s waist, the girl widens her eyes. Clay’s face was scorching hot.

The girl quickly stops her teasing, face now embarrassed. “Oh- I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know you two-” 

“Come on, let’s go,” George interrupts her, sliding his hand away from Clay’s waist to interlock the hand with his. Clay nervously smiles at her, as George leads the boy away leaving the girl dumbfounded. The two leave the kitchen, disappearing into the large dancing crowd. 

George leads the two towards the wall, preferring to be wallflowers compared to the drunken crowd. George blankly nods his head to the music, ignoring Clay who was gawking at the boy. The skin George’s fingers touched throbbed, leaving an invisible mark. 

“What was that?” Clay leans closer to George. The boy lazily shut his eyes, listening to the music. 

“What? She was clearly bothering you, am I wrong?”

“Well, yeah she was-”

George looks at him, who stood inches away from his face. “You’re welcome.” 

Clay chuckles, smirking mischievously. “You’re jealous aren’t you?” The words were supposed to be playful but instead were amorous. He gazed into George’s eyes expecting him to falter. 

The boy rolled his eyes in response, mouth curling at the edges. “Fuck off.” He then continues to look into the crowd, softly bouncing his head to the music. 

“Thank you,” Clay smiles, “I hate talking to girls who are flirting with me.”

“Yeah? Why is that.” 

The innocent comment makes him frown. _Yeah, why is that Clay?_ His voice wavers. “I just never like them like that.”

“Well, I’ll fend them off for you.” George looks back at Clay, giggling. The nonchalant demeanor, the untroubled smile; a different look for George who was typically preoccupied with program ideas and deadlines. _It’s nice to see him like this._

“Gee, what would I do without you?” Clay snickers, nudging George closer to him to make room for people passing by. _How many people are here?_

Clay scans the room, which was already small, counting about twenty people standing almost shoulder to shoulder. _God, there were like fifteen people in the hallway and at least ten more in the kitchen._ Looking over to the front door, he observes as a group of three walks in. _And there are still more coming in?_ Squinting his eyes, attempts to see who the new guests.

“Clay, what are you looking at?” George’s hands lazily grip onto his forearms. Clay quickly shoots his head back to George, surprised. 

“George?” His face blushes red for the 100th time tonight. The gentle fingers brush his exposed skin. Sensation trickles down his spine. A figure passes by, pushing George roughly into Clay, his drink dropping to the floor dripping onto the dark wood flooring. The older boy falls onto him head first, disoriented by the sudden force. 

“Hey!” Clay shouts after the person, seizing the man’s arm. Upon turning around, he loosens his grip, taken aback. 

“Yeah? Got something to say?” The boy snarls, aggressively casting Clay’s arm to the side. _Of fucking course it had to be Noah._

Clay wraps an arm around George, standing in front of the boy protectively. “Watch where you’re going.” 

“What’s with the queer outfit.” Noah laughs at Clay, crossing his arms in an attempt to look menacing. Behind Clay, George quietly listens, dread beginning to settle. 

Clay instead takes a step forward, looking down at the hot-headed boy. “It’s called style.”

“I doubt any girls are into that.”

“You’d be surprised.” 

“Clay stop…” George quietly says, music overpowering his volume. 

Noah pushes Clay, who stumbles slightly backward. George grips onto his shirt. He can feel the younger boy’s breathing becoming deeper, roaring like a flame in his chest. 

“I swear-”

“Clay.” George huffs, “Stop it. It’s fine.” He lays his hand flat on Clay’s back.

“George?” Noah’s eyes widened. Clay observes the boy. His eyebrows eased, fingers released from a fist. Noah’s face twisted into shock.

George narrows his eyes at Noah. “Fuck off.” The vicious hitch in his voice loud enough to scare even Clay. 

Without another word, Noah stumbles backward, disappearing into the crowd. _What?_

“What did he want.” Niki breathlessly says, pushing against bodies to reach the boy’s corner of the room. 

Clay awkwardly watched as Niki and George talked in hushed whispers. The sudden change in George’s character replayed in his head. The tone in his voice, his narrowed eyes, Noah’s eyes widening before walking away. Even now, as the two spoke, the tension in his shoulders and the spite in his pronounced words was obvious. 

“Thank you for yelling at him. I hate that kid.” Niki says, attention now turned to Clay. 

He nods, “Yeah of course.”

“Wouldn't it be better to ignore him?” George mumbles, arms crossed glancing down at the ground. 

“Not if he’s being a dick.” She huffs. The two look at her startled. 

“It’s true!” Wilbur exclaims, stumbling forward joining the others. Clearly intoxicated, Wilbur wraps his around his friends, smiles traded all around.

The night continued, slowly weighing down on their energy. Time passed, from 10 pm, 11 pm, to 12am. The party was bound to end soon. The rest of the night, all four friends stuck together. Eventually, the group decided to join the crowd, staying together as they thrashed their limbs in no coordination with the music. Blissful happiness, worries aforethought. 

\---

_Thank god._ Clay thought to himself, their night winding down finally at 2 am. The apartment had finally emptied at 1 am, allowing the friends to shower and wind down from the turbulent night. Mental and physical exhaustion seized them one by one. The closeness of the group intimidated Clay at first, but time and time again they welcomed him with open arms. A close group of friends isn't something he’s ever encountered, but the comfort it brought to have supportive kind people beside him was heartwarming. 

Once everyone had finished showering, Niki rummaged her bag, saying she had a surprise. She then handed the boys a hoodie, each one a different color with animal ears on the hood. Clay’s was dark green, he chuckled at the color choice. 

_“Because you love that green hoodie!” Niki had explained._

The fact she had bothered to remember was endearing. Dog ears flopped on his hood, making him wheeze when he caught sight of it. Next was George, who received a light blue hoodie with cat ears. Wilbur received a purple hoodie, with dinosaur spikes. Lastly, Niki had a pink hoodie with bunny ears. They all wore the hoodies, thanking Niki for the kind gesture. 

“Let’s get a picture, this is too cute.” Wilbur said, taking out his phone. Positioning it high, the group shifted into poses. Clay lay his back on the bed, George already beside him. Upon seeing the phone, George smiled, leaning closer to Clay as Niki posed from above with Wilbur. Clay nervously smiles. 

“Click”

Clay was sure the picture captured the blush that crept across his cheeks. 

Wilbur runs over to the light switch, ready to settle into bed for the night. George and Niki also jump into the bed, leaving space for Clay. _Do they really sleep like this?_ Clay buries himself into the bedsheets, amazed at how large Wilbur’s bed was. Wilbur turns on the TV opposite the bed, clicking on a random 80’s movie. No one has the energy to argue. 

10 minutes into the movie, he felt a presence on his shoulder. Looking over, he sees George resting his head lazily, softly breathing. His hood sloped down, his cat ears tickling Clay’s face. _He’s… cute._ Realization dawned on him, heart beating as the older boy’s nose brushed his neck. His shoulder began to ache, but the sleeping boy made him reluctant to move, scared to wake him up. Slowly, Clay moves his arm from under the sheets to wrap around George, the position relieving the pain building in the nook of his shoulder. The movement causes George to stir. Clay holds his breath. 

George snuggles closer, hooking his other arm around Clay’s chest. A fire ignites in his chest, and he regrets moving his arm. He looks away, flustered. He couldn’t possibly be feeling this way for George. They were friends. _Just friends_. And Clay didn’t like guys. Despite this, his heart ached as his friend continued to snooze on his chest. 

Sure, there were moments where he’d questioned himself and his lack of attraction to the opposite gender. And he’d never reciprocated feelings when a girl would confess their feelings to him. Or even had a real crush. His first kiss was in 5th grade after losing a bet. Was he supposed to feel the pull then? In 7th grade, he’d kissed a girl in a game of spin the bottle. His expectations were never met. The boy cuddling his chest made him more happy than he’s ever felt yet terrified at the same time. Perpetually, like a rush of fire, it clogged his throat and made him weak. A calamitous emotion that faltered his every move. Much more than he’d ever experienced before. _Fuck. Is this really happening?_

George’s hand softly clasp around Clay’s drawstring of the hoodie, before dropping it again. Clay felt himself crumble. _What’s happening to me? I’ve only known him for three weeks._ It was utterly absurd. But he felt the pull with George. 

George’s weight shifts, more pressure leaning onto Clay. Lifting his head up, he looks over to see Niki rolling onto George, soft exhalations leaving her mouth. His heart sinks, reality setting in. 

_George would never feel this way._

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow my twt for memes, feraltwt content, and chapter updates! @desnootfound 
> 
> my friend takes time to quickly edit my chapters now, so big shoutout to @katmcyt on twt, she's amazing :]

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on Twitter @desnootfound
> 
> thank u for reading and please comment!


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